


I Just Think I'll Scream

by Chispas_and_broken_bindings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Benjen Stark is the fun uncle, Catelyn Tully Stark Doesn't Hate Jon Snow, F/M, Friends to Lovers, House Stark Family Feels (ASoIaF), Jon Snow and Robb Stark are Best Friends, Minor Jon Snow/Ygritte, POV Jon Snow, POV Sansa Stark, Slow Burn, Teen Angst, Val is the fun aunt, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2021-04-09
Packaged: 2021-04-22 19:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 23
Words: 77,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22205707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chispas_and_broken_bindings/pseuds/Chispas_and_broken_bindings
Summary: Jon is an angry teen in a crappy post-punk cover band with Theon Greyjoy who needs money ASAP.Robb just wants to play music and follow his dreams, but he is expected to pursue a swimming scholarship at a prestigious university and eventually take over the family business.Sansa really needs junior year to go perfectly. It's the year that really matters if she's going to get into the right school and have the right life. Unfortunately, it's off to a disastrous start...
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 650
Kudos: 521





	1. Jon

_ Don't do it. _

_ Don't fucking do it. _

_ Just play your part. _

_ Theon's got it. _

_ Just play the chords, Snow. _

_ Don't fucking do it. _

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" He slams his body against his friend, taking over the mic, and everyone is losing their shit, and he wants to smash his guitar against something, but in that, at least, he exercises self-restraint. He's too fucking broke to replace his guitar. He might be too broke to keep it.

His eyes open long enough to see Theon shoot him a dirty look, before slamming back against Snow to grab back the mic. "Won't you please let me go… These words lie inside, they hurt me so1…"

Jon steps back, relaxing into the music. Tonight, he's getting properly drunk.

\---

"Fuck, man. If you're going to go all ape-shit, at least give a man some warning." Theon's tone is light, but his eyes aren't and Jon's not in the mood for Greyjoy's bullshit tonight.

"Whatever, didn't know our post-punk cover band needed choreography." He shrugs, backing off the cramped stage. He's being a snarky shit, but maybe he's in the mood for a fight. Maybe it feels good to be an asshole now and then.

"Hey babe, that was fucking hot!" Stale smoke engulfs him as Ygritte slides an arm around his neck, pulling him down. He's not in the mood for her either. Shrugging away, he takes off his guitar and puts it away in its busted case.

"I'm getting air. Can you watch my stuff?" He doesn't wait for her response before he's pushing through the dark crowd of Flea Bottom's. In the alleyway, a small group smokes outside, and he gives Pyp and Grenn a nod before turning in the other direction, toward the main street, checking his phone. Four missed calls; three from his mom and one from a solicitor. Four text messages; all from his mom. 

_ I think you're being immature about this. _

_ It's a great opportunity for me. Don't you want me to be happy? _

_ You're almost 18. It's time to grow up and take responsibility for your life. _

And, as an encore: 

_ If you come home drunk, I'm ending the lease, and you can figure out housing on your own. _

His phone vibrates in his hand. Gritte. _ Get your ass inside SNOW, I want another drink _.

Looks like he isn't going home tonight. Sighing, he puts the phone back in his jeans, turning back towards the dive bar. In his way, stands a dude straight out of a university pamphlet. Jon would know. He's received enough in the mail since his test scores came back. They'll make for quality trashcan kindling when he's out on the streets.

"Hey man, you shred!" 

Jon is already souring on this kid, with his wavy red hair cut in a high fade, a letterman's jacket, and the smile of someone used to being immediately liked by everyone he meets.

"Uh, yeah, thanks." 

He starts back towards the alley, but the guy moves into step beside him. "I'm Robb. Love what your band is trying to do. I keep telling Dacey we need more of that New Wave sound, but she smokes too much pot and only wants to play Pink Floyd all the time, you know?" Jon does not know, but he just grunts in response, nodding at Edd, the world's worst bouncer, before heading back inside.

A flash of Ygritte's atomic orange hair, up towards the stage, catches his eye where his friends have crammed themselves into one of the few sticky polyester booths. He veers to the bar instead.

"A shot of your cheapest grain alcohol."

"Always classing it up, Snow." Val winks at him, and he can't help grinning back at her. She turns to the kid beside him, who raises his wrist, pointing at the purple band.

"I'm underage." _ What a wholesome shit. _ The only bar in Winter Town that doesn't card, and this kid admits to being underage and takes the fucking wristband. Val rolls her eyes at him, pouring Jon something clear, which he knocks back, relishing the burn. When he slams it down, she fills it up again and he gives her a feral smile.

"Since your friend is taking up my bar space, you're paying for two."

"Oh, sorry… I mean I'll have a coke or something."

Val throws her head back, laughing, her golden hair shimmering over her bare shoulders, and Jon follows it down to where it kisses the top of her tight black jeans. "You're adorable. Where'd you find him, Snow?" Jon peels his eyes away from admiring Val's ass to turn to the boy. They're probably the same age, he realizes, but man, they are worlds apart.

He shrugs, and Val frowns back, most likely because he's being a lech. Robb is all smiles as he backs away. "Sorry, you've clearly got your own thing going on. I just wanted to say you sounded great, and between you and me, you are leagues better than the rest of your band." Jon nods, feeling like the asshole that he is, but also not in the mood to re-engage. He turns back to Val, but suddenly Ygritte is there, slapping his butt.

"WTF. What's taking so long?" She peers at Robb. "Hey, I know you, don't I?" Robb scratches his head and she grabs his jacket collar. "Well, it's not from school. What's a prep school, rich kid doing at the Flea?" Val catches Jon's eye and pours him another shot. Ygritte goes to Winter Town High with him, the public high school, but her dad is an attorney. One could ask her the same question.

Robb is smooth, though. "The ambiance, obviously." He's one of those guys who doesn't even realize he's flirting. "I know where I've seen you, though. Highgarden right? At the pool. You were the only girl with purple hair." And they're off, talking about the country club their families belong to and Ygritte's complaining about the summer staff, and Jon needs another shot.

He tunes back in as Gritte explains, "but then my dad fucked his secretary and my parents are getting divorced so like I don't go anymore because I don't want to support that patriarchal bullshit."

Robb's nodding blankly, and Jon takes pity on him. "Hey man, you want to come sit with us? We can talk music. Pyp and Grenn are probably back there fighting over Depeche Mode right now." The red head grins, and they squeeze their way back through the crowd as the next band takes the stage.

"Hey babe, not everyone wants to hear about your parent's divorce." Jon whispers into Ygritte's ear as they head to the table.

"Well, not everyone wants to hear how fucking broke you are all the time either, Snow." Ygritte snaps back.

Robb turns out to be okay, actually. He doesn't seem put off by Pyp and Grenn's stupid humor or Theon's sarcasm, and he knows a lot about music. Way more than Jon, in fact. At the end of the night, they're standing outside the Flea, exchanging numbers.

"We should totally play together, soon. You name the place and time, man. Or, like, I've got space at my dad's workshop. Whatever you want." Robb is animated, still bobbing his head to the music drifting out from the bar.

"Eh, I'll probably be working." Jon hedges.

"Oh, what nights do you work? I'm flexible."

"Well, I have to get a new job and then, hopefully I'll be working whenever I'm not at class." 

Robb pauses, looking up from his phone."Oh. Right."

This is so fucking awkward. "Gotta save up for college, you know?"

Robb breaks into an easy smile. "For sure, man. Totally understand. My mom is constantly on about me spending more time working at the family business. I need to cover my spending money when I'm off at school next year."

"Right."

"Well, actually, If you're looking for a gig, you should apply at Stark Construction. We've got a hardware store in town as well as a lumber yard in the country, next to my uncle's workshop. It's like a fifteen minute drive, but that would be perfect. We could practice after our shift!"

"Ah-" _ Beep! Beeeeeep! _A guy yells out his car window as a white RAV4 cuts across traffic, pulling up along the wrong side of the street and parks haphazardly across the alley entrance.

"Shit, I think that's a drunk driver."

"No." Robb is palming the back of his neck. "She's just a shit driver. I don't understand how she got her license." He backs toward the small SUV, which is blasting some pop bullshit, and Jon scowls, but Robb keeps going on about his dad's business. "Seriously, apply. Just look it up; Stark Construction. There will be an application on the website, and I'll tell my dad to look for it."

"Robb! Come on! I can't miss curfew again!" a girl calls out, rolling the window down a crack.

"One sec, Sans! And move to the passenger seat, I'm driving home!" Robb is still looking at Jon, so he humors him.

"Yeah, I'll check it out. Thanks, man. See you around." Jon turns around, not waiting to watch someone he is definitely never going to see again drive away.

His friends are smoking outside the Flea's entrance, giving Edd a hard time.

"EDD! Come on! You love us!" Ygritte is drunk and pushy, and the bouncer stares back at her dolefully. "Tell us about your lady love. I know you have one, you rotten romantic." Pyp has jumped on Grenn's back and they are swatting at each other's heads while Theon talks to someone, theatrically, on his cell. "Baby… baby, it isn't true! Ros is a cunt if she said that."

Jon is drunk and tired, and ready for this night to end. "Gritte!" He yells across the alley, and she turns her salacious grin from Edd to himself. "You at your mom or dad's tonight?"

"My mom's. You sleeping over?" She's at his side now, fingers hooking his belt loops.

"Yeah."

"I didn't invite you, yet. What do I get out of this arrangement?" She's reaching for his zipper, and he's grabbing at her hand, pushing it away. _ She's so fucking over-the-top _.

"Whatever you want… at your house." He murmurs, glaring at Theon, who has hung up on whatever girl he's screwed over, and is now eyeing them.

Ygritte struts toward the main road now, hands in the air, singing. "You gotta lick it before we kick it! 2" _ Well, he can certainly do that _. He flashes Theon a dark grin as he follows his girl into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated (minor edits): 10/23/2020
> 
> 1 "Age of Consent" New Order  
2 "Lick It" 20 Fingers


	2. Sansa

_ I ain't gonna cry no _

_ And I won't beg you to stay _

_ If you're determined to leave boy _

_ I will not stand in your way…  _ _ 1 _

_ What is Robb doing?  _ He's been so strange lately. Locking himself in his room for hours to practice guitar. Skipping parties. Skipping swimming practices. Now he's talking to some hipster with a man-bun outside a dive bar on the first Friday of the school year. She doesn't have time for this.

"Robb! Come on! I can't miss curfew again!"

"Just a sec, Sans! And move to the passenger seat, I'm driving home!" Robb is slowly backing towards the car, still talking to his companion, so she uses the opportunity to check her eyes in the mirror and wipe the mascara that's bled under her eye. It shouldn't be obvious that she's been crying, as long as the dome light doesn't turn on. She scoots the seat back all the way so she can carefully climb into the passenger seat, just as her brother swings in.

"Sans, turn off this drivel. Mariah Carey, seriously? You're better than this." She could punch him right now. She loves him, but she could punch him.

"Mariah Carey has a five-octave vocal range. Don't you dare call her music  _ drivel _ . I mean gods forbid the use of quality recording equipment and high production value." Robb snorts, reaching to switch the bluetooth to his phone, and she grabs his hand. "Just leave it, please… Harry and I broke up tonight."

"Thank the gods. You finally dumped Harry the Ass. Good riddance."  _ This is why she didn't want to tell him. S _ he's crying again when her brother glances her way, merging the car into traffic. "Shit. Sorry. You didn't do the dumping, did you?" She can't stop the tears now.

"He said he wanted to be single for his senior year, so he could make the… the right memories before college."

"Fuck him." She feels a hand pat her knee. "He's an asshole, Sansa." This just makes her cry harder.

"Don't say that about him. We might get back together." 

Robb groans beside her, but she just looks out the window, willing the tears to stop before they get home. She's not interested in defending Harry to Robb again. Her brother liked Hardyng just fine before he started dating Sansa, so he can shut up with this overprotective act already.

When they get home, only their dad is up, dozing in his armchair; a pile of papers in his lap. Sansa ghosts a quick peck on his forehead before slipping up the stairs. "Go to bed, Dad. Robb and I are home!" But Robb has already flopped on the couch. "Pops, you want to watch a concert? Dacey let me borrow  _ Live at the Isle of Wight Festival _ ." Her dad perks up in his chair. "Oh yeah? Sure. Pop it in."

She can't help herself. "It's almost one in the morning! Both of you should go to bed!" But they're talking music, and she turns up the stairs, accepting defeat. Her dad calls out when her foot leaves the last step.

"Goodnight, love! Sweet dreams!"

\---

_ Marge: I can't believe he broke up with you the first week of school!!!!! And what kind of lame-ass excuse is that? Doesn't he know that u break up with your h.s. sweet <3 after you go to college?! _

_ Jeyne: U 2 are goals. I don't understand. Did something happen? _

Sansa lies in bed, brushing her thumb across the screen…  _ well, yeah. She gave him her virginity. And then he dumped her a week later.  _ She can't exactly tell her best friends this because (a) they think Sansa and Harry have been having sex for ages and (b) Margaery can't keep a secret. If everyone at Casterly Rock finds out that she's bad at sex, she's going to have to move beyond the Wall or become a Septa.

_ Knock! Knock! _ "Sansa, get up! I need you to watch your siblings today!"

"Mom! I have so much homework to do!" But her mom is already down the hall banging on Robb's door and Sansa wants to go back to sleep and wake up a week ago so she can fix all the mistakes she's already made this school year. _ Junior year was supposed to be perfect, and instead it's a total disaster. _

When she gets downstairs, it's chaos. Arya's horrible death metal is playing three decibels too loud, and Rickon has spilled his cereal. He's laughing hysterically as Shaggydog frantically laps it up, his front paws on the table. Arya has her feet up there as well, inches away from the milk that's dripping on the floor, yet can somehow ignore the mess as she stares at her phone.

"Arya! What the literal-" She swipes her little sister's feet off the table as she brushes by to turn the music off.

"Hey! What's your problem, Sansa! Can't you ever pull that stick out of your ass!"

"Language!" Their mom sweeps into the room before Sansa can respond. "Arya, if you don't get your language under control, I'm taking your skateboard away." She turns to the table now. "Sansa, please clean this up."

"Mom-"

"Enough! I don't want to hear it today, girls."  _ Hear what? That Arya is a wild animal who gets away with acting like a child, even though she's only two years younger than Sansa?  _ Catelyn is already heading back up the stairs now, yelling. "Robb! Get up right now! We need to be at the store in an hour!" Sansa is scowling as her dad pads in, placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Morning, sweetheart!"

"Morning, daddy. Want some coffee?"

"That would be lovely." He's placing a kiss on Arya's forehead now, and the little brat transforms into a normal human being. "Morning Dad! Want to sit here? I'm done eating." She's clearing her place now, and even begins wiping up Rickon's mess, though she doesn't bother with the floor. Sansa rolls her eyes at the coffeemaker, listening as her sister lays it on. "So Dad, you know how school hasn't like, officially started for me yet. Do you think I could, like, go with Mycah to White Harbor. They're running a marathon of the  _ Evil Dead _ movies, and there is even a rumor that Bruce Campbell will be there!"

"That's two hours away, Arya!"

Her sister turns to her, spitting venom. "I'm not asking  _ you _ , Sansa! You're not mom!"

"Girls!" Her dad eyes them warily, as he tries and fails to clean up Rickon's grubby face, and she feels a little ashamed. "How do you plan to get there, Arya?"

"Well, could you or mom take us? Or Robb?"

Catelyn is back now, a groggy Robb behind her. "Take you where, honey? Robb and I will be at the hardware store all weekend. He's training as the weekend manager, and your dad has a job he's finishing up for the new Lannister estate."

Arya turns hopeful eyes to her sister, and Sansa smirks, haughtily, back. "Bet you wish you wouldn't have said I have a stick up my butt, now."

Arya scowls, huffing out the back door with the dog.

"Do you have to provoke her?"  _ Is she serious? _ Before Sansa can respond, her mother has turned her attentions back to Robb.

"Get dressed! We have to leave soon."

"I am dressed." Robb looks down on his wrinkled band t-shirt, and Sansa doesn't understand how her brother can be on the honor roll and be such an idiot.

"Robb, you will be managing  _ people _ . Who would take you seriously, dressed like that? Put a proper shirt on!"

"Mom, I have to wear a uniform all week. Can't I dress how I want on the weekends, at least?"

Arya is back now, tracking mud in, snickering. "Bet you wish you went to public school now!"

"Like I had a choice!" Robb is tousling Arya's messy hair affectionately though, and she's grinning back up at him, and Sansa doesn't understand how it's always so easy between them. She also doesn't understand why Arya is going to Winter Town High for her freshman year instead of Casterly Rock with her and Robb, but what Arya wants, Arya apparently gets.

"Sansa, dear, Bran and Arya still need some things for school. Can you run them to Target? And Rickon  _ needs _ to take a nap. If he doesn't, he'll be a monster by dinner time. There's a roast thawed in the refrigerator. Just throw it in the crock with some vegetables and broth on low. We'll have that for dinner."

"Mom! I have homework today! I have a precalc test on Thursday!"

"Then delegate, my dear." Her mom brushes a thumb over Sansa's cheek. "Were you crying, Sansa? Darling, don't let yourself get so stressed about school. It's only been one week." Then her mom is yelling up to Robb once again, before remembering. "Oh, and Bran slept over at Jojen's last night. He needs to be picked up in… oh, twenty minutes?"

Catelyn is out the door before Sansa musters a response to anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated (minor edits): 10/24/2020
> 
> 1 "Always Be My Baby" Mariah Carey


	3. Jon

He wakes to something hot and humming around him, so he slides his hand under the sheet to hold Gritte's head still as he thrusts up until her nails dig into his hip bone and he grunts, releasing her.

"Fuck Snow, that woke you up." She slides up his body, her tangerine hair matted around her face.

"Mmhm." He flips her underneath him, and she's moaning and writhing as he sinks in. "Shh, your mom is probably up."

This only has Ygritte yelling louder because she's always trying to prove something, so he puts his hand over her mouth, pushing her face back into the pillow. Her eyeliner is a mess and her hair clashes against her lilac sheets, but when she bites his palm, he closes his eyes and comes.

\----

He's sliding last night's t-shirt over his head when the toilet flushes and then Ygritte's tugging at his collar. "Come back to bed."

"You woke me up."

"Yeah, for sex. Let's go back to sleep now."

"I've got shit to do."

She huffs at him, sprawling across her comforter. "Well, I'm going back to sleep. I drank too much last night."

"Can I borrow your laptop?"

She's nodding, eyes closed. "You know the password."

He closes the door quietly behind him before heading down the hall and down towards the kitchen. It's strange being in Ygritte's house lately. It's always been large and cold, but now there are obvious spaces on the walls where pictures are missing, and there are strange spaces in the furniture as well. It's been like this for months and Jon itches to just rearrange everything himself, since no one else is going to.

He starts a pot of coffee before settling at the marble island to look for jobs. Jon has four applications submitted, though nothing looks that promising, when a soft voice greets him from the doorway.

"Jon! I didn't know you were here."

"Yeah…hi Mrs. Ryk. I hope that's okay." He looks up from the screen at the pale woman in the doorway. She waves a frail hand at him, distractedly.

"Of course, Jon. You know that you're always welcome. And you made coffee! Wonderful." She tucks a silvery wisp of blonde hair behind her ear, as she refills his cup before pouring a fresh one for herself. Jon wonders again why Gritte is always dying her hair those bloody awful colors. "Do you want breakfast, dear? I'm sure we have something…" She's opening cabinets now and peeking in the fridge. "Or, well, maybe not. I guess, I should go grocery shopping…"

"No shit, mom. I'm sick of living off takeout." His girlfriend slumps next to him, and he cringes. _Cut her a fucking break_. But it's too late. Her mom's eyes are already teary and Ygritte is rolling her eyes, and Jon knows it's time to get the fuck out of here.

"I have to run anyway. The coffee was great Mrs. R. Thanks." Gritte is scrunching her face at him now, but he's backing into the hallway, grabbing his boots as he goes. His guitar is by the door, and he'll get his jacket from Ygritte at school on Monday.

"Don't you need a ride?"

"I'll take the bus."

"The closest stop is like a mile from here!"

"It's fine. Later, Gritte!" And he's out the door, and it's colder than he expected, but fuck it. He'll just walk to the bus stop faster.

When he gets home, his mom's car is gone, but he heads to the dilapidated garage first, anyway. He needs working wheels if he's going to get another job. Four hours later, he's on his back, covered in grease, but fairly certain he's got Ruby in working order again and it's only set him back two hundred stags. Considering it's a thirty-year-old car, he'll take it.

"I'd sell that piece of junk, if I were you. You're dad never had it running for more than a week or two."

"Good thing it's in my name then." He grunts, pushing himself out from under the body of the car, to peer up at his mom. She's staring down at him, her dark curls caught in the breeze and he's taken aback at how young she looks. He can't tell her mood from this angle, but she's carrying shopping bags, so he tells her that he's almost done and will be in the house soon.

She nods. "Don’t get any grease inside. The landlord is coming by in an hour to take my name off the lease." _Fuck._

He's scrambles to his feet. "I thought we agreed that I could stay!"

She looks back at him, blankly. "You can."

"I'm not eighteen yet. I can't be on the lease by myself."

"You won't be. Alliser's nephew, Janos, needs an apartment. He's nineteen, so it works out perfectly." Of course. _She's still talking to her piece-of-shit ex_.

"Mom, I don't even know him." But his arguments fall on deaf ears and an hour and a half later he's signing papers, promising to pay five hundred stags a month plus utilities to live with a total stranger in a cramped ranch next to the highway. _Because what else is he going to do?_

"I still don't understand why you can't wait until after I graduate. It's only eight months." They're eating tacos on the old picnic table out back, and he feels pathetic asking her.

"Jon, honey, the opportunity is now. Illyriio Mopatis is hiring at his resort in Pentos _now_. And I don't see what eight months difference really makes. You should already be prepared to take care of yourself, if you expect to be by then. I took care of the both of us when I was just eighteen." And there it is. Reminding him once again that she gave up her whole life for him.

"Well, I'm not eighteen yet." Now, he sounds pathetic. "And this opportunity kind of sounds like a scam." _And bitter._

She just stares at him, moon-eyed and distant, before throwing her wrappers in the takeout bag and heading into the house.

Jon lies back across the table top, letting the drone of the highway quiet his restless mind.

\---

The next day he wakes to his phone buzzing, an offer of an interview in an hour.

"Jon! I need the bathroom" He dives in front of his mom and locks the door behind him. "I have an interview, Mom! You want me to be able to pay rent, don't you?"

When he comes out, she's sitting at the kitchen table, worrying her lip, over a cup of coffee. He slides his shoes on, wondering if it's worth it to say anything, but she starts.

"I thought you had a job." She says quietly, pensively.

"Highgarden was seasonal, Mom." Fuck, now she's going to start crying. He doesn't have time for this.

"Don’t worry about it…I have some money saved, and I'm sure I'll find something today." He is not sure. His interview is at one of the big box stores by the mall, and he's got some reservations about how fit for hiring he is.

These reservations are validated as he sits across from the hiring manager at Martells.

"We have a dress code. Pressed khakis and a green polo. No stains. No wrinkles. No sagging pants with your boxers hanging out."

"Yes, ma'am." Ms. Tanda Stokeworth glances at him over her clipboard.

"And we have grooming policies as well. Any hair longer than chin-length needs to be tied back, neatly." _Shit_. He pulls his hair back, hesitantly, revealing his neck. Ms. Tanda Stokeworth is definitely scowling now, suddenly scratching vigorously at her clipboard. He will forever regret getting high at Pyp's house over spring break and letting Satin tattoo the anarchy symbol under his ear.

"I'll just let myself out, then." Her scowl deepens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think it's worth mentioning that a lot of characters in this story aren't going to be exactly likeable...especially in the beginning. That is by design. 
> 
> The POVs are two confused teenagers, and every interaction is going to be colored by their perspective. So yes, Arya is going to seem like a brat. And Cat will come across as unfairly hard on Sansa. I guess, take it with a grain of salt. Sansa and Jon aren't exactly reliable narrators. 
> 
> And Jon...well. No one in his orbit is going to seem that great.


	4. Sansa

_Sansa: Why didn't I take precalc over the summer? _

_Marge: Because that would be an awful way to spend the summer…and you'd be stuck in calc now. _

_Sansa: But at least it'd be fresh in my mind! And I could take college courses next year…How did I forget everything in two months?!_

Her door opens behind her, and there is her mother, a laundry basket at her hip.

"Knock Mom!"

"Sorry, Sans. Do you have any whites for the wash?"

"I don't want my stuff washed with everyone else's. Arya ruined my favorite top with lip gloss just last week." Her mother is frowning at her. "Sansa, I am not washing your clothes separately."

"Well, then I'll wash them." 

"Mom, can you iron my uniform for tomorrow!" It's Robb, calling down the hall from his room, and then Arya is piping in as well. "Is my Sand Snakes t-shirt clean?" Pressing her forefinger and thumb to the bridge of her nose, Catelyn just stands in her doorway, and she looks exhausted. "Fine Sansa, do what you want. Dinner is in fifteen minutes."

And she's off to Robb, reminding him for the eleven hundredth time that he is fully capable of ironing his own uniform. Sansa rests her head on her textbook, fantasizing about the cute apartment she's going to have in Old Town, with white walls and yellow curtains and no siblings. She'll have large windows, facing the Whispering Sound, and they'll be lined with potted plants. Maybe she'll have cat. It'll curl around her feet when she's drinking coffee in the morning, because surely by then she'll be sophisticated enough to like the taste.

Her reverie is broken by commotion in Arya's room, and Sansa's ears perk up, listening to her mother scold her younger sister.

"Arya! What _are _these? Is this a _thong?_ You are only fourteen!" She's on her feet now as her sister tries to protest.

"Mom, it's not-"

"They're mine!" Catelyn and Arya are staring down the hall at her like she's sprouted antlers. Her mother slowly raises up a neon green slip of fabric. Robb is snickering from his doorway now, and even Bran has popped his head out. "Sansa, _these_ are yours?"

"Um, yeah. I wanted to try the neon trend…but it doesn't really work with my hair, so…" Her face is burning as she grabs the thong and accompanying shopping bag from her mom's other hand. "Arya and I must have mixed up bags when we were shopping yesterday. Sorry, mom." She places a kiss on Cat's cheek, before diving back into her room and shutting the door.

\---

After dinner, she's untangling her freshly showered hair next to the fireplace, watching Robb frown down at his phone.

"What's up, brother? A girl not texting you back?"

He huffs…"No, it's the guy I met on Friday night." Bran snorts where he's playing video games and Robb chucks a pillow at him. "It's not like _that_, Bran…and even if it were, who cares?"

Sansa grins at her brother. "Is it Man-bun who's standing you up?"

He looks up, confused. "Did he have a man-bun?"

"Oh my gods, Robb. Do you notice _anything_?"

"Sorry Sans, some of us aren't as obsessed with appearances as you. I did notice that he's aces at guitar, though. "

"Who is?" Arya sits down on the hearth, leaning on Sansa, who tries unsuccessfully to shrug the pest off. "Want me to braid your hair?" The pest whispers in her ear as Robb starts droning on about the band he heard on Friday.

Sansa whispers back. "Your bag is hanging off the back of my desk chair. Wait until mom goes to bed to grab it…and yes, can you do a fishtail over my left shoulder?" She closes her eyes, enjoying the feel of her sister's hands and the warmth of the fire. Robb is giving Bran advice about his video game, and in this moment, her siblings are alright.

"My babies!" Their mom stands behind the couch, teary eyed, and Arya snorts behind her. "I can't _believe_ three of you are in high school now."

"They're growing up, Cat." Ned wraps his arms around their mom, and they are going to kiss, right in front of them.

"Gross! Get a room Mom and Dad!" Arya's hands loosen and Sansa panics. "Don't let go of my hair! You'll have to start over!" And the moment is ruined, because now their mom is going over tomorrow's itinerary and Robb is complaining about sharing a car with Sansa, and Bran is complaining about his bed time being too early, and Arya _still_ can't find her Sand Snakes t-shirt. She meets her dad's eyes over the commotion, and he smiles at her warmly before sneaking away to his office.

\---

The next morning, Sansa rises early. Her uniform is pressed and perfect, hanging on the back of her door. Her bag was packed the night before and her braid held fine through the night. Eying herself in her mirror, she is pleased to see that there are no signs of Friday's tears and she feels more-or-less prepared for _Operation: Win Back Harry. _First step: show up at school looking fabulous. Second step: act completely unaffected by the break-up. She is ninety-nine percent confident in step one, and sixty percent confident in step two.

By the time Robb has pulled their car onto Casterly Rock's tree lined drive, she is sixty-six percent confident in step one, and thirty percent confident in step two. When she passes under the arches and enters the commons, spying Margaery laughing, shoulder to shoulder with Harry on a picnic table, her confidence in both steps drops to five percent.

Her feet don't seem to want to move forward, and Robb loops an arm through hers, whispering "Don't let that jerk get you down little sister. You're the top!" His eyes are warm and she manages to quip back.

"And you're a Shakespeare sonnet." He smiles, seemingly satisfied, for he's already walking away now, backwards, towards his friends, as he sings.

"_You're Mickey Mouse._

_You're the Nile,_

_You're the Tower of Pisa,_

_You're the smile on the Mona Lisa*_"

And her dorky brother helps. She's back to fifty percent confidence, at least.

"The adorable Starks! You two look more like twins than Loras and I!" Margaery calls out, and now Sansa has to face her friends. She smiles brightly, heading over to their table.

"Ugh, Sans, your hair is so _cute_. Stick a flower in it and you'd look like an alter maiden on the Day of the Mother!" _Hmm…a seven year old at the harvest festival is not the look she was going for. _

Sansa keeps her smile in place, though. "Thanks Marge. Arya braided it for me."

"I wish _I_ had a sister. You're so lucky." She hates when Margaery acts like this. Like she has no idea what a little snot Arya can be, and like she doesn't have a brother who she's thick-as-thieves with, who probably helped curl her perfectly imperfect tawny waves this morning.

"Looks good, birdie." Harry reaches down and gives the end a gentle tug, and she has to acknowledge him now. He's smiling at her, broadly, all dimples and twinkling blue eyes, and it's like Friday night didn't even happen to him and she can only mumble an uncomfortable "thanks" before the bell rings, and she can escape to first period.

The second week of class is usually one of Sansa's favorites. The teachers are finally done reviewing the semester's syllabi and class rules and they're getting into the coursework which is new enough to feel shiny and full of potential without the stress of midterms or finals bearing down. This year, however, she is too distracted by Harry to focus on anything else. In the spring, when she arranged her classes so she would share three with him, it seemed like a great idea. They'd already been together for four months, and she wanted to spend every minute she could with her charismatic boyfriend.

Now, she's a mess of confusion. She's starting her second period with Harry, Advanced High Valyrian, and she doesn't understand how she is supposed to act. He is acting like nothing has changed between them. Sitting next to her and joking around with his friends while he fiddles with the end of her braid. At one point, in the hallway, he even casually slung his arm around her shoulder. So, she falls into the performance she knows. She laughs at his jokes and smiles when he touches her and promises to share her notes with him during lunch. And, once she decides to play along, it's easy. In fact, this is so much better than every other scenario she imagined, that she almost relaxes, but then Robb walks in with Meera, scowling at Harry, and she remembers that _he's_ in this class too, and she can't follow anything Ms. Dayne is saying as anxiety overwhelms her once more.

When class ends, she beelines for the restroom before Harry or Robb can say another word to her. She finds her spot in the last stall, locking it behind her before she carefully steps onto the toilet rim so she can sit on the sill of the glass block window above, her feet resting on the tank. She pulls out her phone, quickly filling in Jeyne, via text.

_Jeyne: Are you sure he broke up with you? _

_Sansa: I think so?? I mean…I can't remember his actual words now, but how could I get that wrong? _

_Jeyne: Well, maybe he already changed his mind. That's what you wanted, isn't it? _

Her throat tightens, as she responds.

_Sansa: Yes. Of course!_

She can hear other girls coming into the restroom now, complaining about creepy Mr. Baelish and chatting about the weekend.

"Oh my god! Did you hear that Harry is single again?"

"Yessss…he was at Joffrey's on Saturday night, and Girl…he looked fine as hell!"

There is a chorus of giggles, and Sansa rolls her eyes. This conversation needs to end soon or she's not going to have a spot at their crowded lunch table. She hates the awkwardness of standing with a tray, scanning for an opening.

"I heard he's already hooking up with Mya Stone!"

"No way! Sansa would not be hanging out with him like she was, if that were true."

"I'm just telling you what I heard!"

"Mya hooks up with everybody."

More giggles, and then the girls are thankfully out the door. Sansa steps out of the stall, pulling her braid out. Her auburn hair cascades around her in even waves and she brushes fresh gloss across her bottom lip. She does not look like an alter maiden now. And there is no way Harry hooked up with Mya. Sansa's heard his snide remarks about the black haired girl enough times to know that he couldn't be. _Could he?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "You're The Top" - Cole Porter


	5. Jon

By the time he pulls into the parking lot on Monday, Jon Snow's head is pounding. Ruby is definitely burning oil and the exhaust is making a horrible racket. He turns the ignition off and closes his eyes, calculating which problem to tackle first. The oil burning is more urgent. He can't afford to top her off every few days.

_Thump. _Grenn rolls across his hood, and Jon sticks his arm out the window, flashing his friend the finger.

"Shit Snow. Bringing back the eighties in full aren't you?" Theon leans over the driver side now, blowing smoke through the window, and Jon wonders how he ended up with such shit friends.

"Get off, Theon." He opens his door, pushing Greyjoy out of the way. "She's from the seventies. Get your fucking decades straight.

"I like it." Pyp is toeing the black bumper now and Jon flashes him a quick smile.

"Me too. She was my old man's, and from what I can tell she's _slightly_ more reliable than he was."

"I thought you didn't know who your dad is?"

Jon squints at his girlfriend. She's wearing his jacket over an outfit that is in rampant violation of the dress code, and he suddenly couldn't be _less_ interested in talking about cars or absent father-figures. He tugs her to him, ending all conversation with his mouth.

The guys are groaning behind them as they head into school, but he nips her bottom lip once more before following them inside, Gritte's head on his shoulders.

Morning announcements are still droning from the overheads when a secretary slips into his homeroom, sliding Mr. Marsh a note.

"Snow. Office. Now." _What? _He cycles through what he could have fucked up as he heads down the empty halls. His car has valid plates and an updated registration. He paid this semester's fees two weeks ago. He triple-checked that he was taking enough credits. _He_ isn't violating dress code.

"Jon! Great to see you!" Mr. Seaworth pops his head out of the councilor's office as soon as he reaches the office, and Jon frowns back.

"Hi Mr. Seaworth. Is there a problem?"

"No! Well…I just want to have a chat. Come in. Come in." Jon is not ready for cheery Davos Seaworth and his faux-fatherly advice, but he grunts noncommittally, and shrugs inside.

"How was your summer?"

"Fine."

"Great! I had a lovely summer as well. Visited the coast with my wife. We had a wonderful time." Jon stares at the model ship sitting prominently on Seaworth's desk.

"Isn't she great? That's_ Black Betha_. She helped end the siege at Storm's End during Robert's Rebellion. I've been working on her for three years and I finished her just this summer."

"Why did you want to see me? First period is about to start."

The old man chuckles, pushing papers around on his desk. "Always straight to the point, Snow. One of the many traits I admire in you." Jon is silent. "I just wanted to have a quick chat about your course load this year. I see that you're taking a shortened day, with only one advanced placement course and…" It begins. Jon focuses on the boat_. Did the onion knight's galley get destroyed during or after the Battle of Blackwater? During…it was definitely during._ His councilor rambles on about potential, and scholarship resources, and a mind as gifted as Jon's, and he's had a enough.

"Mr. Seaworth?"

"Davos, call me Davos, Jon."

"I'm not going to college next year." The man's face falls, but before he can respond Jon stands up. "Look, I appreciate the pep talk, but I understand my options, sir, and I'm not going. Unless there is an issue with my conduct or my paper work, I'm going to head to class."

\---

He manages to slip into world history just after the bell. Mr. Hightower gives him a curt nod, but doesn't say anything as he scrawls across the blackboard.

"Jon! Sit here…I've saved you a spot." A few people snicker as Sam awkwardly stands, bumping against his desk, but Jon doesn't spare them a glance as he slides next to his friend.

"Hey Sam. How's it going?"

"Oh…grand. I just submitted my application to the Citadel, so now I just have the crippling wait-induced anxiety to deal with until I find out if I got in, early-acceptance."

"Weight-induced…har har har." Some asshat in front of them snickers again, and Jon feels an overwhelming urge to see how far he has to shove his pen down the prat's ear before he punctures the ear drum. Sam is eyeing him nervously, so instead, he nudges his friend's elbow.

"You'll get in." Jon made the mistake of punching someone who was giving Sam a hard time, last year. In response, Sam avoided him for more than two weeks, even going so far as to request to move seats in a few of the classes they shared. Now he keeps his mouth shut and his hands to himself and let's Sam choose his own battles.

"I'd feel more confident if I had your test scores. Did you apply yet?" Sam asks. _Why did he have to check his scores in public?_ He had made the mistake of opening them during lunch along with everyone else, and Ygritte ripped the results out of his hands, announcing them to the table. Since then, Theon has been a moody, combative prick and Pyp and Grenn keep acting like he's some kind of walking search engine.

_Snow, what's the square root of three thousand fifty five?_

_Snow, what caused the doom of Valyria?_

_Snow, if a bear shits in the woods…_

And Sam…Sam acts like they are both going places _together_ and that grates most of all. Luckily, Hightower starts lecturing before he has to answer, and he lets the comfort of history settle his mind. Unfortunately, Sam is like a dog with a bone, and as soon as the bell rings, he's asking questions again. When Jon turns right at the door, he says, "hey, AP Physics is this way."

"I've got English right now, man. I'll catch you later."

"Oh, I could of sworn there was only one segment of AP physics this year, and AP English come to think of it. Strange…" Before Sam can put two-and-two together, Jon ducks around the corner, letting himself get swept up in the flow of the hall traffic. His next class is actually 'Comm arts' and it is as mind numbing as he assumed. He is able to use the time to figure out his necessities as well as the exact amount he needs to make per month in order to not starve or have debt collectors hounding his mom. It is not a comforting sum. When that's done, he has a half hour of independent study, in which he burns through the first two segments of his online linear algebra class, and then in no time at all, it's lunch.

Ygritte's already waiting for him in the quad, lying across one of the picnic tables in an oversized Winter Town High sweatshirt, a cigarette hanging from her fingertips, Jon's jacket bunched under her head as a pillow.

"You're starting the year off on a brazen note." He slips the cigarette from her hands, stubbing it beneath his boot.

"I wasn't finished with that."

"Yeah, well my day is already turning to shit, and I'd quite like to spend lunch with my girlfriend. It'll be hard to do that if you're dragged off to detention." She sits up at this, giving him a genuine smile, and it transforms her face. He's smiling back, and maybe this day is alright, but then Theon slams against him from behind, and Grenn and Pyp and Satin are there, arguing about which Sand Snake is the hottest, and Ygritte's jumping in with a snarky comment about the pointlessness of objectifying women who no one here would stand a chance with. Theon responds, asking if she'd rather they'd objectify her…and the moment is lost.

"Are we practicing after school?" Theon asks as they walk back inside.

"No, I have to work on my car."

Greyjoy kicks some trash. "Come on, man. We aren't ever going to play anywhere besides the Flea if we don't practice more."

"Feel free to practice without me, then. You always say you want band practice, but then you just end up smoking a joint with Grenn and arguing about effects pedals. There is nothing stopping you doing that without me."

"What the fuck is your problem, Snow?"

Theon is in his face now, but Jon is not doing this today, so he brushes by him as Ygritte jumps in. "Theon, if you don't want to go back to your foster family right away, you can chill at my house. My mom will have taken enough Ambien to tranquilize a horse by then, so we can do whatever." Jon's mouth tastes like sand, but he doesn't turn around.

His last class is metalworking with Grenn, a bullish guy who won't stop tapping his pen against the table, and a half-pint girl in a Sand Snakes t-shirt who shoots dirty looks at the drummer the entire class. When the bell rings, she darts out of her seat to snatch the pen away. "Dude, you have shit for rhythm. If you're going to be annoying, at least do it on beat." The big guy just gapes at her, clearly flustered, but Grenn is swooping in, admiring her taste in music and not-so-casually dropping hints that _he_ is an actual drummer.

She is not impressed. "Of course I like the Sand Snakes…only twats don't like them." Jon snorts, and she turns to him. "What's with the _10 Things I Hate About You _hair?"

"Gods, you're mean, aren't you?" She reminds him a bit of Ygritte, standing with her hands on her hips, all hostile and shit, and he cuffs her shoulder, playfully.

Her face relaxes, and she looks slightly embarrassed. "Umm, I guess you could call it a pre-emptive strike. I expected shit for being the only girl in metalworking."

"Well, there are only four of us, so maybe we can have a shit ceasefire for one hour of the day, eh?" He is still smiling at her and she finally grins back. "I'm Jon. This is Grenn. I promise no shit from either of us." He turns to the other. "And seeing as he has yet to clap back at you, I doubt you're going to get it from him, either."

Now she looks properly ashamed and she finally mutters an apology to the big guy.

He pulls his hood up. "It's fine. I know I can't hold a beat. I just can't sit still. I'm Gendry, by the way." He shakes hands with her, all formal, and she introduces herself as Arya. Jon decides this odd class is going to be the highlight of his day.

"Alright, Grenn, if you see Theon, tell him that I am up for band practice tonight. I just have to work on my car first." He and Greyjoy need to stop snarking at each other, already.

"What do you drive?" Gendry's at his side now as they walk across the quad, back towards the main building.

"A '76 Triumph TR7."

"Woah, that is a strange one!" Gendry spreads his arms, fingers pointed, his voice lilting. "_The shape of things to come!"_

"Ha! You know it then?" No one ever recognizes his car.

"Oh yeah, my dad owns Mott's garage…In fact, why don't you bring it by this afternoon? I'll keep a bay open if you want help."

Jon rubs his neck. "Uh, thanks, but I can't pay for a mechanic."

"Don't worry about it. My dad's cool. He'll let us work on it for free, I'm sure, and I can get parts cheap. He's always saying I need more practice working on vintage cars." A wave of relief hits him. Maybe he'll be able to stay afloat, after all. If he can get Ruby functional and figure out gainful employment by the end of this week, he _probably_ won't have to cancel his cell phone or sell his guitar. He exchanges numbers with Gendry, and then heads to the public library while he waits for his friends' school day to end.

\-----

It's 3:45 p.m. on Thursday and he is no closer to finding a job. Every opening requires qualifications that he doesn't have, or are during school hours, or are customer service. He has ruled out the last category since his disastrous interview at Martells. _Does he have to drop out of school? Does he become a drug dealer? Can guys make good money stripping?_ He has to figure out something because his mom is leaving at the end of the following week and he only has enough money saved to squeak through the end of the month.

He's researching how to make money writing term papers for other students when his phone buzzes. He closes the browser and logs out of the library PC, assuming it must be Gendry texting him. True to his word, his new hulking friend has been diligently working through Ruby's issues each afternoon, with Jon's assistance.

_Robb (The Flea): Hey_

Robb (The Flea): _This is Robb. We met last week at Flea Bottom's. Hope you figured out your job situation. My dad said he didn't seen an application come in. Anyway, just wondering if you wanted to get together and play this weekend? _

Jon swivels around, diving back into his seat at the library computer before an older man is able to.

"Hey! I was going to use that!"

"Well, too bad." Jon doesn't bother to turn around as he logs back in, typing "Stark Construction" into the search box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that teenagers don't smoke cigarettes as much these days and that the slang is off from present day - but I'm going off my high school experiences here so I suppose I'm dating myself. :D


	6. Sansa

"You're biting your nails, Sans."

"What?" Sansa eyes Wyn, distractedly. "Oh…I didn't even realize. Thanks." She raps her fingers against her desk, instead, trying to contain her nerves as Mr. Baelish shuffles a stack of papers at the front of class and she just knows she failed yesterday's quiz. She had meant to use her lunch hour to do some last minute studying, but instead she helped Harry with his essay on the King's Landing bread riots, which she regretted as soon as the first composite function was staring back at her.

Mr. Baelish brushes a hand over her shoulder as he places her quiz face-down in front of her, and she's almost too cowardly to check, but she braves a glance and it's almost as bad as she suspected, a C+. Tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she keeps it together through the remainder of class, lingering at her desk when the bell rings and the rest of the class files out. When she approaches Baelish's desk, he smiles up at her, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Sansa Stark. You look more like your mother every day."

"Excuse me?"

"Your mom and I grew up together. She didn't tell you? We were quite _close_." She glances at the door, blankly. "But, you aren't here to talk about your mother, of course…what can I do for you?"

"Well, I was just looking at the syllabus, and I saw that you don't have any opportunities for extra credit or test retakes, and umm…I was just wondering if there were any other ways to keep my grade up? I need to maintain a high grade point average." A _perfect_ grade point average. She stands up straighter, reminding herself that there is no harm in asking.

"You're concerned about your quiz grade?" He rises, walking around his desk to her, taking the sheet from her hand. "Sansa, the quizzes are really meant to help you gauge your level of comfort with the material. My courses are heavily weighted toward the midterm and the final. If you get high scores on them, you'll get a high score in the class. This is an advanced math course, Ms. Stark. It isn't meant to be an easy A."

"I understand-"

"Look, my door is always open. I have office hours every day, and I'd even be willing to extend some time after school, if you'd like extra help." He's standing just a little too close and there is a strange moment where he seems reluctant to let go of her quiz when she tries to take it back.

"Thanks Mr. B. I'll keep that in mind." She backs out of the door, before sighing heavily. The last thing she wants to do is spend her free periods in Mr. Baelish's office, but it looks like that might be where her semester is heading. When she gets to her locker, Harry is waiting for her, leaning casually against it.

"Hey Birdie, ready for anatomy?" He winks at her and she blanches. She signed up for anatomy and physiology because Harry was taking it, and now that she's realized they'll be dissecting a cat all semester, it may be her biggest regret of the school year. Harry wants to be a doctor, so the course makes sense for him, but she has no interest in medicine and the smell of formaldehyde lingers far after the class has ended each day.

"Ugh, I'm never ready."

He grins, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll do the dissecting and you can take notes. Your handwriting is neater." And she is better at identifying and spelling each body party, but he leaves that unsaid. "What are you doing tonight? Want to come over and _study_?" He winks at her, and her breath catches. There last session ended with him telling her that he needed the freedom to _study_ with other girls. They've been dancing around each other all week like that didn't happen, and she's been too cowardly to bring it up when he hasn't, either. Maybe if she never does, they'll just slide back into dating without any more uncomfortable discussions. She smiles up at him, rueful. "Jeyne is sleeping over tonight. I haven't seen her since school started." He pouts at her. "But, I might be able to come over tomorrow night."

He sticks his hands in his pockets, tilting his head away. "Yeah, maybe. I'll text you if I'm free."

"If you have other plans, it's not a big deal."

He turns back to her, patting her cheek, and it almost feels patronizing. "Birdie, you're always a big deal." She spends the rest of anatomy silently mulling over the exchange, as Harry makes bad cat puns beside her.

"Poor Tigger. He sure isn't feline good, today….bet he didn't expect to end up as a CATdaver."

"You're such a dork." If she doesn't look up from her notebook, she won't get queasy.

"Admit it, I'm hissssterical." She grins up at him at last, and a tiny part of her considers cancelling on Jeyne…but no. She wouldn't do that to her best friend, especially not for someone who maybe broke up with her only a week ago.

\---

"He wanted to hang out tonight? Alone? And you chose me instead?" Jeyne squeezes her in a hug as Arya calls over the couch at them.

"Besties before testes, Jeyne!" Bran chokes on whatever he's drinking at the kitchen island.

"Eeww, Arya!" Her little sister cackles, and Sansa rolls her eyes at her friend. "Come on, let's head up to my room where we can have some privacy." She pulls a reluctant Jeyne toward the stairs.

"Is Robb here?" Her friend whispers, eyeing his door at the end of the hall.

"He's at a swim meet, and then I don't know what he's doing tonight." Jeyne has had a crush on Robb for ages and Sansa doesn't get it. Robb treats her the same way he treats Arya and Sansa. "Plus, it's besties night. Forget about Robb for two seconds, please. You're too good for him. Plus, I'm not even sure he's into girls anymore."

"He's definitely into girls, Sansa. I walked in on him wanking to his Sand Snakes poster once, and he was having no trouble keeping it up, if you know what I mean."

"Eeew, Jeyne!" Sansa throws a pillow at her friend. "I did not need to know that. You're as bad as Arya."

"Hahaha, chill Sans. You really are such a prude." She hates that word. And _uptight_. She hates that word too. "Plus, why don't you think he's into girls? You don't historically have the best gaydar…" No one will ever let her forget her freshman year crush on Loras. Instead of putting her out of her misery, Margaery waited months before finally revealing that her gorgeous twin would rather dish about boys than be her boyfriend.

"Because, he's been obsessing over some guy he met at a bar last weekend. He finally got a text from him yesterday afternoon, and I thought he was going to piss himself over it." Robb wouldn't stop talking about it on the way to school. He had somehow bullied poor Manbun into applying to work at the hardware store with him so he could eventually coerce the guy into forming a band. "In fact, I think he goes to Winter Town. His name is Jon. He has a manbun," she motions behind her head, "and I guess likes the same shit music that Rob does…"

"Oh my gods. Jon Snow?" Sansa shrugs, flipping through the latest Architectural Digest. "He is actually pretty hot, in a brooding bad boy kind of way. Haven't seen the manbun you speak of, but he did grow his hair out over the summer and he has the perfect sulky pretty boy mouth. I must admit, I'd totally get it if Robb is switching teams for him. Ooh! Just thinking of them kissing, has got me-"

"Jeyne!" Sansa glares at her friend, who topples over on her bad, laughing. Her cheeks feel hot and she realizes that maybe prude isn't an inaccurate word to describe her, even if she hates it. Harry's voice is in her head. _Relax, baby. It's just sex….let loose…show me what a dirty little slut you are._ Luckily, Jeyne snaps her out of it.

"It doesn't matter. Jon is definitely _not_ gay. He and his girlfriend can't keep their hands off each other." Luckily, there's a knock at the door, saving Sansa from having to continue any more discussions about her brother's potential sexual orientation. Her mom's head peeks in.

"Sansa, we're heading out soon. There is money on the counter for pizza. Rickon already ate, and before you even start, Arya already promised to put him to bed."

"Thanks mom!"

"Hi Mrs. Stark!" Jeyne waves from the bed, and Catelyn comes in now, dressed in a simple black shift dress, a deep blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders. "Wow! You look great. Where are you going, looking so fancy? Date night with Mr. Stark?" Jeyne's voice is coy, and Sansa groans.

"Shush Sansa! You're so sweet, Jeyne, but no. Mr. Stark and I have a business dinner with Ms. Lannister and her brother tonight. They're considering Stark Construction for some work on one of their bigger developments."

"Oh, yeah. I heard my dad say something about it to my mom. That'd be great!" Jeyne is nodding and Catelyn looks pleased, but Sansa has heard enough of her parents whispered arguments and her Uncle Benjen's grumbling to know that not everyone would be thrilled if her dad continued working with the Lannisters. Cersei Lannister had come north from King's Landing at the beginning of the summer with her brother and children, with several Lannister Industries development plans in the works. Because Ned went to college with Cersei's ex, the senator Robert Baratheon, they're considering Stark Construction for some of that work. For reasons unknown to Sansa, it's caused tension between her parents and her Uncle Benjen.

She and Jeyne hang out in her room until she hears her parent's leave. Then, they head downstairs and spend fifteen minutes arguing with Bran and Arya over what pizzas to order. Once that is sorted and Arya takes Rickon up to bed and Bran slinks up to his room as well, Sansa and Jeyne finally have the house to themselves, and more importantly, Sansa has control over the stereo. Beyonce is turned up and soon the girls are twirling around the kitchen trying to outdo each other with increasingly silly moves.

_Wind it back girl, wind it back girl_

_May your hair touch the floor wine it back_

_Drop to your knees arch your back girl_

_Shake shake it like that alley cat…*_

They finally collapse on the floor, laughing hysterically when Jeyne's attempt to walk across the room like Naomi Campbell is interrupted by a naked Rickon streaking across the kitchen with Arya in hot pursuit.

"Put your PJs on you little devil!!!"

"We getting bodied, Getting' bodied!" Sansa and Jeyne squeal on top of each other, and Arya growls as she chases the wayward toddler back up the stairs. It takes Adele to finally settle them down enough to start baking and by the time the pizza arrives, the pavlova is out of the oven.

Robb arrives just before Sansa was going to close up the boxes and stick the leftovers in the fridge. "Black olives! Thanks guys!" Robb grabs three slices of his disgusting favorite, and Sansa rolls her eyes at a blushing Jeyne. She knew Jeyne was full of crap when she insisted on black olives, as Jeyne only ate slices of Bran's pick; cheese and pepperoni. "Where's Marge?"

Jeyne holds up her phone in response, sharing an image of Margaery and Loras flashing twin smiles in identical white robes. _#spanight #treatyoself #blessed_. "They're having their own sleepover."

Sansa rolls her eyes. "It's not a sleepover when they're siblings who live in the same house, Jeyne."

Jeyne shrugs. "Well, I don't know. I don't have siblings."

Robb throws an arm around her shoulders. " Sure you do, J! We're your siblings." Sansa has to stifle a smirk at the disappointed horror on poor Jeyne's face. Robb is clueless.

"Should we have invited Margaery tonight?" Jeyne asks, looking down at her phone again.

"She's clearly capable of entertaining herself without us for one night." In truth, she's glad the other girl isn't here. She's great and everything, but sometimes she's too much. It's like Margaery takes up all the air in the room, and there isn't any left for Sansa. Jeyne has been her best friend forever and is pretty much a fixture at the Stark household. Sansa never has to be nervous about whether their plans are cool enough or if her family being embarrassing in front of Jeyne. When Margaery sleeps over, however, the whole dynamic changes. She becomes hyper aware of every snarky thing Arya says, and how messy the boys are and how old their house is and Margaery always seems to notice all of it. Still, maybe she should have invited her. It's too late now. "What are your plans tonight, big brother?"

"Nada." He leans back, hands behind his head, as Sansa pulls the berries and the bowl of homemade whipped cream from the fridge. "Scratch that. My plan is to eat some of whatever delicious concoction you're making. Then, I'm going practice the bass in the basement."

"Bass? Since when have you played bass guitar?" She's spooning the whipped cream into the center of the baked meringue as Jeyne slices the berries.

"Well, I haven't really, but I've got Uncle Benjen's old fender, and after hearing Jon play, if we're going to be in a band, he's definitely going to be the guitarist."

"Jon Snow?" Jeyne asks.

"Yeah, do you know him? He's a senior at Winter Town."

Her friend is nodding, enthusiastically. "Yeah, he's pretty close with my friend Theon, actually." Sansa quirks her eyebrows at Jeyne who flushes, avoiding her gaze. She'll just tuck that name away for later, then. "He's apparently a genius. Theon told me he got perfect scores on his college entrance exams."

Robb whistles. "Good! Then, there's no way mom won't hire him. I'll make sure to mention that to her before the interview tomorrow."

"Mom isn't letting you interview him, is she?"

"No! Of course not, but if he works at the store over the weekends, I am the assistant manager." Of course. Golden boy Robb gets to hire his friends the minute he has a management position at the store. "Which is perfect, because we can just head straight to our gigs after our shift ends."

"You already have gigs lined up?" Jeyne leans against the counter, starry eyed.

"Well…no. I mean, we haven't actually played together before, but Jon's current band is playing at Flea Bottom's tomorrow night. Dacey and I are going."

"Oh! That's the band Theon is in! Bastards and Broken Things!" Jeyne claps. "Sansa, we should go!"

Robb is nodding, but she has no interest in stepping foot in that scummy bar, especially not for any music being played by a band with such an unfortunate name. She doesn't look up as she carefully arranges the berries over the whipped cream. "Um…I'm probably hanging out with Harry tomorrow night."

"Ugh, Sansa-"

"Shut up, Robb! If you say one more word, you aren't getting a single bite of the pavlova." She waves her spoon, threatening, and he rolls his eyes with an exaggerated shrug.

"Oh! So he texted?" Jeyne asks, and Sansa glances down at her dark phone. Harry has not texted yet…but he is kind of forgetful. Maybe she just needs to remind him. She picks up her phone snapping a picture of the completed pavlova, before spooning a slice onto a plate and snapping a selfie of herself with the dessert held high.

_Sansa: Should I save you a slice for tomorrow night? ;)_

There, that should get his attention, right? He responds two hours later with a camel emoji and nothing else. What is she supposed to take from that? By now, her siblings have eaten the rest of the pavlova anyway, and they are all sprawled across the living room watching Reservoir Dogs, which Sansa is one hundred percent certain Bran is too young for, but their parents still aren't home and this was Robb's brilliant idea anyway. He can take the blame for once. Jeyne, who usually hates violent movies, is suddenly a _huge_ Tarantino fan, and maybe she should have invited Margaery. She texts her.

_Sansa: How is spa night? So jealous. Everyone in my house ate too much pizza, and now the monster that is Robranarya is having a belching contest…_

_Marge: You should have hung out with Harry._

_Sansa: Well I told him I could tomorrow but I haven't heard back…_

_Marge: He's probably going to the party at Joffrey's._

A party at Joffrey's that Sansa did not know about.

_Marge: You should totally come with Loras and I! You can meet up with Harry there._

She glances over at Jeyne. Sansa didn't say she'd go see that band, anyway, even if she wasn't going to hang out with Harry. And if he is going to be at the party, then she should go, if only to find out where they stand.

_Sansa: Okay. I'm in._

_Marge: Yay! Get ready at our place. Loras and I are going to SEX you up and show that fool what he has been MISSING!_

\--

Later, when she can't sleep, she prods Jeyne.

"Psst. Who's Theon?" She whispers.

"Hmm?" Jeyne rolls away, pulling her pillow over her head.

"Don't play coy. I know you're awake."

"He's just a friend from school." Her voice is muffled, so Sansa rips the pillow away.

"What kind of friend?"

"A school-only friend. We've had a couple classes together, and he's really nice and goofy then, but I've seen him around his friends, and I don't know, he's a different person, and they're….kind of scary."

Sansa scoffs. "Scary? Earlier you were telling Robb what a nerd Jon Snow is."

"Yeah, well, he also has a neck tattoo, Sansa. What high school student has a tattoo…_on their neck_?" Jeyne's hushed voice sounds scandalized, and the odds that Manbun is a shoe-in for the hardware store drop way down. "I mean, I don't really know him and Theon says he's really smart, but his girlfriend is _terrifying_." Jeyne's voice drops even lower. "_I heard they do butt stuff!_"

Sansa stares up at the crack in her ceiling. Is that what Harry meant when he told her to show him what a _dirty little slut_ she was? _Butt stuff_? Gods…they had just tried _vagina_ stuff for the first time.

"Sorry. Forget I asked. It's just so rare you mention any boy other than Robb."

Jeyne sighs. "Well…at least Theon doesn't act like I'm his sister. Still, it wouldn't work. He's way more experienced than me. I've barely kissed anyone, Sansa. Even if things don't work out with you and Harry, at least you got lots of practice in for the next guy."

Now it's Sansa's turn to pull her pillow over her head. "Except I didn't…"

"What?"

"We only did it once! And…it was horrible."

"What do you mean? I thought you were having sex all summer?" Jeyne pulls the pillow up, squeezing her face close.

"Well…we didn't until the end of the summer, right before he dumped me."

"Oh Sansa! I'm so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?" This is why she wanted a night with just Jeyne. Jeyne will listen as she talks about how awkward sex was. How one of the condoms broke before Harry even put it in, and then, when he finally had one on right, the awkward moments as he couldn't find the right place or the right position and there was a moment where she didn't think he'd fit, and they had to shuffle around and try again. Then he was in…and it was…fine. Anticlimactic, really. He was breathing really hard, and kind of smushing her boobs in an uncomfortable way, and she just laid there for a few seconds trying to figure out what she was feeling, other than the couch cushion sliding out from under her...and then he was just done. They tried a second time, later, and that's when he wanted her on top, and she hated it. He started calling her those shameful names as if that would flip some kind of switch in her where she would understand the rhythm or what to do with her hands. Instead she just rocked awkwardly on him, hiding her face with her hair, until he finally took control, grunting into her and finishing quickly, again.

"I mean, I'm not stupid, Jeyne. I knew the first time wasn't going to be magical, but I didn't realize I was going to be so terrible at it. And now he broke up with me, and how am I supposed to get any better?" Sansa hates being bad at things. She approaches every activity in one of three ways. One, she is naturally good at it, so it becomes one of her favorite things and she does it as much as possible, like singing or drawing. Two, she is not naturally good at it, but it is important to her for other reasons, so she spends hours getting it right so that it eventually comes across as effortless, like parties and math. Three, she is horrible at it and she has no reason to ever try it again, so she avoids it like the plague, like sports and maybe now, sex.

"Did Harry know it was your first time?"

"Yes."

"Well, then he's a jerk if he thought you were going to be flawless right away."

"Right?" That is what she needs to explain to him. Why she needs to go to this party tomorrow night, so she can tell him that she is prepared to practice as much as he wants until they get it right…even if she feels horribly awkward, and doesn't feel anything when they are doing it, and doesn't like the names he calls her. Those are minor obstacles to get over. She is Sansa Stark, and she _will_ be a sex goddess, godsdammit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Get Me Bodied (Extended Mix) - Beyonce


	7. Jon

"Gritte! Hurry up!" She promised she'd get him to his interview on time this morning, and now she has been in the bathroom for an hour. "This is my livelihood here, babe!" He bangs on the door again.

"Almost done! Hold your fucking horses!" He leans his forehead against the door. He should have just taken the bus, but it's too late now. Just as he's about to knock again, the door opens and he almost stumbles into Ygritte's arms. Her hair is a fresh shade of electric blue, and he's going to murder her. "Unbelievable. You were dying your hair? That couldn't wait?"

"No, it couldn't! My roots were a mess, Snow, and I have to eat dinner with my dad tonight." She brushes past him, grabbing one of his button up shirts from the floor and throwing it over her cropped camisole. "Plus, how many times do I need to tell you. You can just live here. My mom really doesn't care. Sometimes I think she likes you more than she likes me, anyway." He wants to tell her it's because he's not an epic bitch all the time, but that would definitely make him late to his interview. Instead, he grabs Ygritte's purse for her, walking out of the room and thankfully, she follows behind.

"I really can't live here, Gritte." He is not moving in with his girlfriend when he's seventeen.

"Why? You practically do already." He needs to start sleeping at his house more.

"Well, even so, I still need to work. It's not like your parents are going to give me an allowance."

"They might…" She starts to turn into the kitchen, but he grabs her by his shirt, waving a granola bar in her face.

"Come on! There is a coffee shop across from the store. You can get your caffeine-fix there while you wait for me. And do not ask your mom to pay me an allowance. I'm not a fucking charity case, Ygritte."

She nips at his face. "Relax Snow. I didn't say you were." What's left unsaid makes him even angrier.

Even though it's cold out, he has to roll the windows down inside Ygritte's Audi. "You're really marinating this car in nicotine. Do you even roll the windows down when you smoke?" She's lighting a fresh cigarette now and he tries to grab for it. "Can you wait? I have an interview in ten minutes, and you're ruining a hundred thousand dollar car." She gives him her best dead-eyed glare in response.

"You know nothing, Snow. This car is five years old. It'd probably only be worth half that now and hopefully by the time I'm done with it, it'll be worth nothing. No way am I letting my dad get any kind of return on investment here." And there is Ygritte's whole fucking thesis statement. She'd burn the world to the ground, herself included, if it would screw over her dad. He turns up the music.

_Day upon day of this wandering gets you down_

_Nobody gives you a chance or a dollar in this old town_

_Hovering silence from you is a giveaway_

_Squalor and smoke's not your style_

_"I don't like this place"_

_We better go*_

They pull up to Stark Hardware and, of course, it's charming. This isn't some big box hardware store by the highway. It's on Winter Town's historic main street, in a turn of the century brick building with gold leaf lettering across the massive window out front. _Serving the North Since 1886_. Behind it is an artful display of shiny enameled garden tools arrayed in an ombre pattern. At the entrance are two large planters with cheery yellow mums spilling over the edges. Before he can even open the door, Robb is bounding outside to meet him, wearing a shirt and jeans covered by a grey canvas apron.

"Aces! You're here!" This kid. Jon gives him a rueful grin.

"Sorry, I hope I'm not too late. This place is great. I didn't know they made rakes and hoes in so many shades."

"No, man. You're right on time, and they don't. My sister convinced my dad to order them special for the display window. Don't bring it up in the interview. It's kind of a sore subject with my mom because they were expensive. I already prepped her. Here I'll lead you back." The inside of the store is as cheerful and orderly as the outside, with handmade signs indicating the goods contained in each narrow aisle. Robb leads him to the back and through a door to a hall where there is an employee bathroom, a breakroom, and an office.

"Do you want anything? A coffee? Water?" Robb lifts up a coffee pot. "The coffee is crap, but the Tears of Lys is right across the street."

"I'm good. Thanks." Robb ducks into the office, leaving Jon alone in the breakroom. He inspects a series of whimsical cartoons tacked to the cork board about an animated multi-tool who falls in love with a phillips screwdriver, the one tool its missing. He's looking at the one where they're arguing over the correct way to assemble an Ikea crib for a baby unicorn, when the office door opens and Robb flashes him a thumbs up before heading back into the main store. An older woman is standing in the doorway. She has auburn hair, the same shade as her son's, swept into a low bun and she's dressed in simple slacks and an oxford shirt covered in a long tan cardigan.

"Jon Snow? I'm Catelyn Stark." She extends her hand so Jon shakes it. "Why don't you come inside?" The office is small, but neat, with several filing cabinets behind the simple desk that holds a dated computer and a pencil holder that is clearly a child's art project of a misshapen fish, painted in globs of primary yellow and blue. Catelyn offers up a folding chair for Jon to sit in, and she peruses his resume across the desk. He figures she's probably seven or eight years older than his mom, and it's obvious she was beautiful, she still is, but she might as well be twenty years older for their difference in countenance. This woman exudes practical no-nonsense, and as she peers at Jon over the rims of her reading glasses, he is suddenly nervous that this job is not as guaranteed as Robb made it out to be.

"I see you have two summers of experience at Highgarden Country Club." She's reading his resume, her eyes down.

"Yes, ma'am. I've worked as a groundskeeper, so I know a lot about landscaping tools and techniques. I'd be comfortable helping customers with any gardening needs."

"And you were a house painter?" Alliser Thorne made Jon paint his garage once in punishment, so he counted one summer on his resume.

"Yeah, I have a little experience there." She looks up now, her eyes narrowing.

"Well, your grades are excellent, at least. You took calculus as a junior?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've always really enjoyed math. Finding solutions to problems is comforting."

"Comforting? Hmm…I've never heard it put that way. Maybe I should hire you to tutor my daughter in precalculus. She seems to find it stressful." She gives him a piercing look, and he rubs his hands together, nervously. "That's not the job you applied for though, is it?" She pauses for only a moment before continuing. "Well, we'd be happy to have you at the hardware store on the weekends. You'd be working under Robb, as long as you're comfortable with that. We are open seven a.m. to five p.m., but your shift can be flexible, depending on your schedule. I'd like you to commit to at least ten hours a weekend, starting at twelve dollars an hour."

_Shit_, that isn't going to be enough." Actually, I'd like to work as many hours as possible." He shifts in his seat. "I'm really looking for at least thirty hours a week. I have early release at school, so I'd be happy to come here in the afternoons."

"Thirty?" She is incredulous. "But you're still in high school-"

"I know, but I’m seventeen, so there aren't any legal limits to how many hours I can work." He's sure. He's checked.

"Well, yes, but that is still a lot to balance with school and extracurriculars, Jon. How do your parents feel about you working that much?"

Nothing at all, but he can't say that. "It's just my mom and I…and she knows I'm trying to save as much as possible for college right now." The lie is getting easier to tell. Catelyn leans back in her chair, eying him speculatively. Finally, she drops the papers on the desk before her, folding her hands over them.

"Well, I do appreciate your eagerness to earn your own money, Jon. I admit, I wish Robb had a little of your enthusiasm in that area. I'm afraid, however, that there isn't much I can offer you during the week. I really don’t need any additional help here." _Well fuck_. "But…we do own a lumber yard and workshop just outside of town, that's operated by my husband's brother. Let me call Benjen and see if he's in need of any weekday help."

"Oh, Mrs. Stark, that would be great-" He starts to rise, but she cuts him off, a bit stern.

"No promises. Why don't you head out and have Robb show you around the store, and I'll come find you."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you. I really appreciate it." He backs out of the office as she lifts a cell phone to her ear. Robb is out front, leaning over the register, chatting with a short wiry brunette girl with wildly curly hair. She's wearing a Knight of the Laughing Tree t-shirt and a matching apron to Robb's.

"Well?" Robb stands straight and eager.

"I got the job. I'll be working here on the weekends, and your mom is checking at the lumber yard to see if I can get some extra hours there."

"Great! Uncle Benji is awesome. This is Meera. She works here on Saturdays. Our dads work together." The girl gives a bored wave, before looking back down at the notebook before her.

"Are you the one who drew the cartoons in the breakroom?" Jon glances down and realizes that she's writing, not drawing.

"Ahh, High Valyrian. Skoros morghot vestri*?" He grins, but she frowns back at him. Not today, then. He scratches the back of his neck.

"Whatever." She mutters, and Robb pulls him away.

"Don't mind her. She's annoyed because she just found out she has to work during the first ski trip weekend because I have a swim meet." Robb leads him around the rest of the store, pointing out the different sections. There is only one other employee, a man in his thirties named Jory who manages the key and repairs desk in the back.

"So, as you can see, it's pretty chill. Once the school year starts it gets pretty quiet around here. We'll get a rush again when the first snows come. People will come for weather-proofing and shovels and all that, and then again before the holidays. We won't get really busy again until spring." They are behind the paint counter now, and Robb is leaning back casually, flipping a stir stick around his fingers, and Jon is trying to figure out the catch, because this seems like the easiest job he has ever had. He's about to say it, when Catelyn finds them.

"Robb, stand up straight. You're working. Look like it." The redheaded boy fumbles the stir stick, and straightens his apron.

"Sorry, mom."

She huffs at her son before motioning for Jon to follow her back to the office. It turns out Benjen is willing to give Jon some hours at the lumber yard and workshop, on a trial basis. "Winterfell is just outside of town, past Casterly Rock Academy, if you know where that is."

"I do."

"So, you'll need a car. Do you have one?"

"Yes." It's just not quite working at the moment, but he leaves that out. He'll get it sorted. He has to.

"Well then, you can head out after your classes end on Monday." She slips him a slim folder, with an address stuck to the top on a sticky note. "Here is some employment paper work to fill out. Just bring it here to the store when you start next Saturday." She gives him a long stare, her eyes traveling down from his hair to his boots that he hastily wiped down this morning. "There's no dress code, but don’t come in anything you wouldn't wear in front of your grandmother." He nods, because he's never met any of his grandparents. "And this is a family business, so absolutely no smoking anywhere in eye sight of the store." Her eyes are hard, and it's not like he can assure her that he doesn't smoke, because why would she believe him? He has to stop letting Ygritte wear his clothes, and he needs to start sleeping in his own bed.

"Understood." He gazes back at her, stoic, and she gives him a nod of dismissal.

"Well, Benjen will certainly like you." He doesn't know what to take from that comment, except that she probably doesn't. No matter though. She gave him a job and a chance and that is all that fucking matters.

He practically floats over to the coffee shop. He hasn't felt this light in ages. Inside, he finds Ygritte sitting on the counter, sucking down a frappe, showing something on her phone to the barista, who Jon realizes is Satin.

"Well?" She looks up, tone bored. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah. I did." He nods at Satin. "Hey man. I forgot you worked here."

"Wish I could forget." His friend pulls a shot, and slides an espresso across the counter to Jon, who thanks him. He shoots it down, and Ygritte is pulling his arm.

"Come on. I'm bored." Satin smirks at them, and Jon tries to pull out his wallet.

"Don't worry about it. Congrats on the job."

"Thanks! Are you coming to the Flea tonight?" Ygritte is still tugging, and he pulls out of her grip. "Just a sec, babe." He can hear her huff behind him, but he keeps his eyes on Satin, who is still smirking.

"Yeah, I'll be there. Have to drown the sorrows of my pedestrian existence somewhere, right? Where else can an underage miscreant do that, but at the Flea?" Jon grins, but Satin waves him away. "Better get out of here, Snow, before your girlfriend leaves you." And sure enough, Ygritte has marched out the door.

When he slides into the car, she's pouting. "Where to next, my liege? What desperate errand do you need me to drive you to?" He rolls his eyes, before pulling her across the center console towards him.

"Wherever the fuck you want, Gritte. The only thing I'm desperate for is you." When he kisses her, he can feel her smile, and maybe, just maybe, he'll start getting things right for a change. She's deepening the kiss when he remembers his car. He pulls back, cringing. "Actually…umm…shit. I do need to get my car sorted before Monday." If looks could kill.

"Fucking A, Snow."

"I know! I know! I'm an ass, Gritte. I'm sorry. It's the last thing I have to figure out in order to get my shit together, babe."

She's staring out the window, her arms crossed. "There is always one last thing with you. You're never going to have your shit together."

"What the fuck-" She always acts like being broke as shit is some kind of twisted choice he's making, and not a huge fucking weight that's constantly threatening to drown him.

"Whatever, Jon. I'm over it. _I'm so over it_. Just tell me where you need to go." His knuckles are white, and he is suddenly wound so tight that he thinks he needs to get out of the car, but he manages to choke it all down, because _fuck that_.

"Just take me to my house."

"Fine." She starts the car after lighting another cigarette. She turns the music up loud enough that they don't have to talk the rest of the drive.

_I had seven faces_

_Thought I knew which one to wear_

_I'm sick of spending these lonely nights_

_Training myself not to care**_

When she pulls up his driveway, he lowers the volume and asks, "Are you still coming to the show tonight?" He sounds pathetic, but she turns to him, her face a little softer.

"Of course." She rolls her eyes. "Get your car sorted, and then tonight…you can sort me out, any way you want." Her tone is flirty, but her eyes are hurt, and he's hurt so he just gives her a grim nod. He starts to walk away and she calls out. "Fuck, Jon. I didn't mean it. You're going to get your shit together."

But honestly, how can he? His shit is fucking scattered to the wind, and no part-time job or shitty car is going to change that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The Boy with the Arab Strap - Belle and Sebastian  
** NYC - Interpol


	8. Sansa

_Marge: You're sleeping over after the party, right?_

_Sansa: Can't, but I'll be over in fifteen. Gotta drop Robb off at Dacey's first._

_Marge: Are they coming to the party tonight?_

_Sansa: No. They're going to some dive bar to see a band._

_Marge: Lame…_

Sansa quickly folds her outfit for the night as small as possible before slipping it into her tote. Then she pulls her favorite mockneck sweater over her wet hair.

"Come on Robb! I want to get to Margaery's before my hair dries!"

He pops his head in her room, eying her suspiciously. "Why? I thought you were just doing a girl's night in." She glares at him before whispering. "Just like you're doing a game night at Dacey's?"

"Touché." Now Arya's diving under Robb's arm, squeezing her way into Sansa's room as well.

"Are you going to see that band? I want to come!"

"You're not old enough. It's eighteen and older." Robb crosses his arms, but Arya is undeterred.

"It's at the Flea, right? I've heard about that place. They don't card." Robb scowls and Sansa rolls her eyes at him, over her sister's head, before cutting in.

"Doesn't matter, Arya. Mom would literally murder Robb if he brought you to a bar." She doesn't understand her little sister. When Sansa was fourteen, her idea of a fun night was going to the movies with Jeyne or going to a high school football game, not trying to sneak into a bar.

"Well, why would she find out? She doesn't even know Robb is going!"

"Yeah, but if she does, it won't be a big deal. I'm eighteen and she didn't exactly tell me I couldn't go so I'm not breaking any rules. Come on Sans."

"Sorry Arya. Feel free to break all the rules you want when it doesn't involve Robb and I." She brushes by her petulant sister, rubbing the top of her head.

"You guys suck!"

When they get into the car, Robb asks her what she's really doing. "You aren't actually hanging out with Harry, are you?"

"What if I am?" He huffs as she fiddles with her phone, trying to find the right playlist. "I'm going to a party at Joffrey Baratheon's with Marge and he's probably going to be there, but so what, Robb? I just told Mom and Dad that I'm doing a girl's night because you know how they are about the Lannisters…and about parties. Mom would probably call Cersei to make sure there isn't going to be alcohol or something lame like that."

"Fair." She finds the right song, and turns it up, skidding out of their driveway. "Gods, Sansa! You drive like a lunatic."

"_Ain't my fault that I'm out here makin' news, I'm the pudding in the proof, Gotta blame it on my juice!_*" She sings along and Robb crosses his arms, grumpily, but by the time they pull up to Dacey's he's singing to "Like a Girl" just as loud as she is.

"See, you _can_ appreciate good music." She smirks.

He shakes his head. "Well, I can't help it if Lizzo is catchy as hell. Pick me up at the Flea, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun with Manbun! I see you wearing your coolest band tee just for him." Her eyes wander down to his black _T. Rex Electric Warrior_ shirt. "Very rock and roll, Robb." She winks.

"Shut up Sans! It's not like that."

She laughs. "Okay, okay. Sheesh." Then she's zipping away to Margaery's. The Tyrells live on the new side of town, where all the biggest, shiniest houses are, and their mansion is no exception with its Rhoynish-inspired stucco exterior and multiple water features. When she arrives, Marge drags her up to the wing she and Loras share.

"Good, your hair is still wet. Loras! Sansa is here!" Margaery's hair and makeup are already immaculate. "I have the perfect outfit for you, and Loras has been dying to do your hair."

"Literally dying." Marge's golden twin is already waiting for them in her room, lying across her huge bed, flipping through a _Vogue_. "We are dialing you up tonight, Stark."

She can already feel her cheeks getting hot. "Well, I brought something to wear, Margaery."

"What did you bring? Let me guess. A peplum blouse, with some lace detail, maybe a cute floral pattern, and a high neck line? And your best dark wash skinny jeans?" Sansa frowns. "Honey, I love your style, but it's Harry…your good taste is wasted on him, and I have a jumpsuit that will look killer with your hair. I haven't taken it to the tailor yet, so the height will be perfect for you!"

"She's right. You'll be seriously foxy in it, Sansa." And even though she knows he's gay, his compliment still makes her blush. So, she lets the twins work their magic. Loras puts a product that smells like rosewater in her hair that makes it shine like a new penny even after he straightens it. "Alright, we're leaving it down, and I'm confiscating all hair ties. Hand them over." He sticks his palm in her face, tapping his foot.

"All night?" She grouses.

"All night, Stark. That girl-next-door pout doesn't work on me, sister. And do not tuck the left side behind your ear!" Next, Margaery does her makeup, applying a rose shadow to her lids and giving her a much darker lip than Sansa would ever dare, but it does look good on her, she has to admit. She looks older and more sophisticated already, but when Margaery reveals the pale blush jumpsuit with its plunging V neckline, she balks.

"No. No way." She's shaking her head, but the twins are nodding at her with matching Cheshire grins.

"Just try it on! It's not as scandalous as it looks, I promise."

"I can't wear a bra with it!"

"There are solutions for that, and I have tape!"

Loras chimes in. "Sansa, you're going to look amazing! And it has long sleeves…so it's not that racy." But it really sort of is. Still, she puts it on, and when she stares at herself in the mirror she thinks that there is no way she isn't going to win back Harry in this ensemble, so before she can change her mind, Margaery is shimmying into her own glittery gold romper and they are scooting into her SUV.

When they pull up to the Lannister estate, the party is clearly already in full swing. She can hear the music blaring as they walk up the long, winding driveway, where at least twenty cars are already parked. The house is all lit up, and it glows like an icy white cubist sculpture and Sansa is itching to explore it. No one builds houses like this in the North, but apparently Cersei hired some famous architect from Dorne to design it, and her dad told her a little about it when he did some custom work to install a sauna for the Lannisters over the summer.

They enter through the front door, and it's packed inside. There have to be more than just Casterly Rock students here. Margaery takes her hand and they wander through the crowd, looking for familiar faces. She doesn't see Harry yet, but Wyn and Miranda are perched by the massive fireplace with drinks in hand. When Sansa pulls in their direction, Marge pulls back.

"They can wait. There's Joff." Margaery has had her sights on the Lannister boy since the first rumors started circulating that they were leaving King's Landing, before she even knew what he looked like. Luckily for Marge, he is good looking, with his golden blonde hair and green eyes, and Sansa figures if he and Marge get together, their families' joint wealth is probably more than the rest of Winter Town and maybe even White Harbor's combined.

Now, he's leaning against a pillar, talking to one of the Kettleblacks, looking coolly aloof. When he sees Margaery and Sansa however, his eyes sweep over them slowly, in a way that sends a shiver down Sansa's spine. "And I thought tonight was going to be a bore." He smirks, and Margaery giggles flirtatiously. "But, I see my luck has changed. Hello ladies, and welcome." He waves Osney away, offering an arm to each of the girls. Marge happily accepts but Sansa steps back, looking up at the two-story high ceiling.

"Joffrey, this house is amazing. It looks like an Oberyn Martell!"

"That's because it is." His green eyes twinkle at her. "I'm impressed Stark. I didn't know anyone in these backwoods had any real taste." Marge shoots her a pained expression and Sansa gives a self-deprecating laugh.

"Oh, well Marge got me a subscription to Architectural Digest for my birthday last year." Joff turns his attention back to her friend.

"What would the North do without the Tyrells?" Margaery giggles again, and Sansa wants to roll her eyes. The North existed just fine, with its own rich history, well before the Tyrells showed up fifteen years ago. But instead of picking a pointless argument, she shrugs.

"Here, let me get you two some drinks. Come." He leads them back into an enormous kitchen where more kids are gathered. "What's your temptation?"

"Oh, I'm driving." Sansa raises her hand in protest when he tries to offer her a glass of something pink. Hands light on her shoulders from behind.

"Let loose, Stark. I'll drive tonight." It's Loras, and he's slipping her purse from her shoulders to fish out her keys.

"But I have to pick up Robb later."

"That's perfect. I'll take you to the Flea, where Robb can grab the keys, and Marge and I can catch an Uber from there. Aren't your parents asleep by the time you usually get home, anyway?"

She bites her lip. "Well, yeah, but-"

"So enjoy yourself for once!" Joffrey is still pushing the cup in her hand and Margaery is beaming at her, and everyone is always telling her to lighten up, so she takes the pink drink.

"Yay! Cheers!" Margaery raises her own pink drink, and Joffrey joins them in a toast. The punch goes down easy and they chat in the kitchen long enough for Joffrey to refill their drinks once and for Marge to start sending her 'get lost' signals with her eyes, so Sansa excuses herself, pulling Loras with her.

"Do you mind if we look around?"

"Not at all. Want a tour?" Joffrey leans closer, and Sansa steps back.

"No! Not necessary, thanks. Didn't you promise Marge a game of flip-cup? Looks like the table is free." Margaery shoots her a grateful smile as Sansa and Loras slip out of the kitchen.

"Maybe we sexed you up too much, Stark. Lannister was making more eyes at you than my sister."

"Don't say that, Loras." Sansa scans the living room again, but still no Harry. "I'm going to explore. Want to come?" But "Toxic" just started playing and Loras is already stalking to the dance area.

He calls over his shoulder. "Can't say no to Britney. Meet me on the dance floor after you've had more to drink, Stark! I know you have moves!"

She laughs at him, calling back. "It's a date!" Before she hits the stairs, Wyn and Miranda pull her in for a round of shots, and she is fully buzzed. When they try to loop her in for another, she shakes her head in protest. "Later! I do actually want to check this place out."

"Okay nerd, I'll join you." Miranda loops arms with her and they sway upstairs. The house is beautiful with just enough wood accents to counter the cold modernism. She'd love to come back and see it during the day to see how the light plays through the many windows and skylights. It's clearly been decorated by a professional as each room looks like something from a magazine spread. As they are approaching the third bedroom, they can hear whispered giggles floating out from behind the closed door. Sansa starts to pull Miranda back.

"Shh, best not interrupt. Come on." But then, there is a deeper groan and she recognizes it.

"Fuuuck yes. That's what I'm talking about." Before she realizes what's happening, Sansa has opened the door and there, in front of her, stands Harry with his pants down around his ankles, his privates obscured by a topless girl on her knees, her back to the door.

"Holy shit! Sansa?!" Harry's stupid sex face changes to his stupid panicked face and she is furious!

"This is why you couldn't text me back? You turned down my pavlova for this?! A blowjob?"

"Gods, Sansa wait!" But she's out the door and practically running down the stairs, Miranda cackling beside her.

"Holy shit! His face! Your _pavlova? _Now, that's one I haven't heard before…" She stops laughing when she looks at Sansa's face. "Oh no! Wyn! Loras! Shots!" Miranda is ushering Sansa back into the kitchen and their two other friends stumble in behind them, breathless from dancing. Sansa is frozen while Miranda catches them up to speed, and then a shot is in her hand and she tilts it back, numb. Before she can put the glass down, Loras is handing her another.

"Girl, he doesn't deserve your pavlova. One more shot and then we are dancing that prick out of your system!" So she takes another shot, and this one burns, but she ignores it because there is Harry's stupid face coming towards them through the crowd. He meets her eyes, and he looks worried, even calling out to her as Loras and Wyn grab each of her hands pulling her away.

"Not today, asshole!" Miranda yells back to him before Sansa can respond, and she lets her friends pull her onto the dance floor. Loras disappears for a moment and then "Feeling Myself" starts blaring and normally Sansa would be all over this song, but she is decidedly not feeling herself in this moment despite everyone's best efforts. She starts to pull away despite her friend's protests.

"No! Just dance! I promise you'll feel better." Wyn and Miranda are pleading, but no. This is all wrong. Then Margaery is suddenly there, and she takes Sansa's hands, backing through the crowd with her. "Fuck him, Sansa! I know what you need." When they reach the DJ, Margaery turns to whisper something in his ear and he's nodding and then looking at his laptop and the music cuts and…_Yes_! Sansa can dance to this. She takes a deep breath, rolling her shoulders and she can feel her hair swish across her bare skin as she sways back into the center of the dancefloor, letting the beat taking over.

_I'm in the corner, watching you kiss her, oh oh oh_

_I'm right over here, why can't you see me, oh oh oh_

_And I'm giving it my all, but I'm not the guy you're taking home, ooh_

_I keep dancing on my own**_

But she's not. She's surrounded by her friends and they're all singing at the top of their lungs with their arms in the air and this is all she needs. From there it's just the beat of the music in her chest and the bodies moving around her and gods, she hasn't felt this good…_ever_? Turns out Loras does have moves, but so does Sansa.

_I don't care, I love it, I love it! I don't care!***_

More shots are had. More dancing. At one point she's flush against Joffrey and the beat is slower and vaguely she thinks she should pull away, but no, she loves this song, and she likes his hands on her hips.

_I like the way you move_

_I love the way you move****_

The world spins, and Sansa is here for it. Why doesn't she let loose more often? Joffrey laughs and she realizes she might have said the last out loud.

"I don't know, baby, because I love it." Uh-oh. The song fades, and she ducks away, stumbling through the crowd. Where did her friends go? Where did her purse go? _Oh no. Oh no._ She's starting to really panic when Loras's face looms in front of her, water bottle held high.

"Come on Cinderella! Midnight has come and gone, and your brother has texted you…like a bunch."

"Shit!" _Oh no. Oh no._

"Breathe! It's fine. I've got the car pulled up and Marge is already buckled in. It's fine. It's fine." She blinks, and she's in the back seat of a car…her car, and the world is still spinning, but in a bad way. She groans, and magically her window is rolling down. It's cold…but better.

"Turn the music up!" Woah. Margaery is beside her.

_It's a beautiful night, we're looking for something_

_Dumb to do._

_Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you*****_

"Liar," Sansa mutters and Marge is giggling beside her. "I have to pee."

"Okay, princess." Loras is opening her door. When did the car stop? "We're here. You can pee in the Flea." She looks over his shoulder.

"I'm not peeing in an alley." He rolls his eyes, pulling her to her feet. She blinks and they're in a dark, crowded room. Margaery's gold romper is disappearing into the mass of bodies, and it's really loud in here and _she has to pee_!

"In the back!" Woah. A blonde woman is yelling at her from behind a bar, pointing. Oh yes…of course the bathroom is down that dark, dirty hallway. Nothing bad is going to happen there. She places a hand against the wall, but immediately retracts it. This place is disgusting, and now she's staring at herself in a mirror, and why is the light flickering? Oh yes. This bathroom is also disgusting. Ugh, she looks bad. The hair at her temples is starting to curl from sweat and her skin looks pale. Is she going to be sick? Yes. No. Yes…No, she's got this. Wait, where is Robb?

She opens the door, and there's some guy pushing a girl with really blue hair against the wall. See, bad things do happen in dark hallways, but never mind. Where is Robb? She fumbles for her phone, but…where is it? Oh, and she still has to pee. Back to the disgusting bathroom, it is.

She opens the door, and what is happening? The girl with blue hair is sitting on the sink (gross), but her body goes down to the floor….wait, no. That's the guys body, but where is his head? Oh…_ohhh_.

"Is my phone in there?"

"No! Your phone is not in my cunt, you cunt! Get out!" Oh gods. She is _terrifying_…and…oh no…she's going to be sick. She is definitely going to be sick…_right now_!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Juice" - Lizzo  
** "Dancing On My Own" - Robyn  
***"I Love It (feat Charli XCX) -Icona Pop  
****"The Way You Move" - OutKast  
*****"Marry You" - Bruno Mars


	9. Jon

He sits on his stoop, watching Ygritte's Audi disappear around the corner, then lies back with his eyes closed and tries to blow the tension out. He's not sure when things got so hard with her. That's a lie. Things got hard when she walked in on her dad having sex with his secretary. No…that's not true either. That was hard for Ygritte and her mom. It still is. But that's when Jon and Gritte were really close. When she used to call him from her rooftop, and they'd talk while her parents fought downstairs. When he was still sneaking in and out of her bedroom, instead of making Mrs. Ryk's morning coffee. When it was Jon and Gritte against the world. At some point, Gritte decided that Jon is, at least sometimes, part of the world that she's against…

The screen door starts to open behind him, knocking into his elbow.

"Ow." He rolls out of the way, dragging his guitar case with him.

"My long lost son returns at last." He can feel her sit down beside him and he opens his eyes. His mom looks down at him with her big grey eyes, and he does feel a twinge of guilt.

"You're the one moving away." He sits up, brushing off his pants.

"Which is why it would be nice to spend some time together before I leave. It's not like you'll be able to just pop over for dinner. There will be a sea between us." She makes to tuck his hair behind his ear but he shrugs away.

"Again, your choice, not mine."

She sighs. "Am I supposed to set aside all of my dreams, just because I’m a mother? Make myself smaller than I am? Lesser? I've been doing that for seventeen years, Jon. I can't do it anymore!"

"Well, sorry my birth ruined your plans for the iron throne, or whatever, Mom." His phone buzzes in his pocket, and thank the gods, it's Gendry and his car is _fixed_. He was ready to hunt down a weir wood and commit a blood sacrifice to get a set of working wheels.

"Jon, I'm trying to have a _real_ conversation with you right now." He looks up at her, and he can't do it. She's breaking his fucking heart enough as it is.

"Unless you're going to tell me who my dad is, I'm not interested." And that worked. She stands up, her eyes furious.

"You're just like him! Selfish and cold!" The door slams behind her, and he lies back again, closing his eyes. Now he knows when things turned sour with Ygritte…when he disappeared for a month last spring. She said she understood but nothing else makes sense. Shit was great between them before, and after, well after everything has been a bit fucking bleak for Jon, so it's him. It's definitely him. _Fuck_.

He takes the bus to Mott's Garage, and Gendry is there with his dad and a few of the other mechanics, sitting around one of the empty bays, drinking beer. They whistle when Jon walks up.

"Of course a _fucking musician_ drives that car." Gendry's dad has ribbed him before, so Jon just smiles.

"Hey man, I really can't thank you enough."

"It's nothing." Gendry looks down at his toes and his dad lets out a hearty laugh.

"Don't thank him! He took twice as long to fix it as he should have because he kept making rookie mistakes!" But his tone is good-natured, and Jon grins.

"Well, you get what you paid for, right?" This gets a round of appreciative laughs from the men, and they try to offer Jon a beer, but he declines. Gendry walks him to his car.

"You're playing a show tonight, right?"

"Yeah, we're actually opening for a pretty killer band from White Harbor. It should be a good crowd for once. Why? You coming?"

The bigger guy shuffles his feet awkwardly and, not for the first time, Jon wonders how such an obviously good-looking guy could be so bashful. "Well…I don’t know…would you bring a girl there?"

Jon snorts. "I mean, my girlfriend is there all the time, so yes?"

"Cool. Cool." Gendry does not expound on that thought, and Jon laughs.

"Cool. Well, hopefully I'll see you there tonight."

"And they don't card, right?"

"Nah! Just don't bring like an actual child or anything." Gendry's face reddens, and Jon laughs again. "Thanks again, Gendry. You are a literal life-saver!" He gets behind the wheel and it's bliss. The exhaust is fixed and it doesn't smell like burning oil anymore. He fumbles blindly in the back seat, and grabs the first tape his fingers land on, popping it in and it's like a good omen for a second later his phone buzzes again and it's Ygritte, actually calling him for once.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"My car is fixed."

"That's great!"

"Yeah."

"My dad cancelled dinner."

"Dick move, Dad."

"Right? Total dick move."

"Well, I can pick you up in my sweet ride…and I'll even let you treat me to tacos."

"You really know the way into a girl's pants…I mean heart, Snow.

"Be there in 5."

"K."

He turns the music up.

_The warmth of your smile_

_Smile for me, little one_

_And this will be our year_

_Took a long time to come*_

_\---_

That night, they play great. Theon doesn't get too drunk before their set, and Grenn is on fire, and the crowd is fantastic, and Jon is feeling fine. When their set breaks, Robb is at the stage immediately with a tall, lanky girl with long features and longer black hair.

"See Dacey, isn't he great?" Jon rolls his eyes, introducing himself, and the girl is a good foil to Robb's endless enthusiasm with her stoner wit, and when they slide into their booth she and Satin are quickly arguing the finer points of balancing THC and CBD in cannabis in order to reach peak creative expression or some nonsense and Theon and Robb are geeking out over T. Rex and Ygritte, well she's staring at him across the table, swirling a straw in her empty glass, quiet for once.

Then he spots Gendry weaving through the crowd, a head above everyone else and he waves. "Hey man! Over here." He's pulling someone short behind him and for a second Jon thinks maybe he actually _did _bring a child, but it's Arya, from his metalworking class, and this night just keeps getting better.

"Arya! What are you doing here!" It's Robb, and he's trying to stand too, but he's wedged in the middle of the table and his eyes are practically popping out of his head. The small girl just laughs, her head thrown back.

"What? I wanted to see the band." She shouts at Robb, throwing in, "You're not half bad, Snow."

He and Robb turn to each other at the same time. "You know each other?" Jon gets out first, and Arya doubles over, laughing even harder.

"Yeah, that's my _sister_."

"The crazy driver?" Robb has been worrying about his sister for the last half hour because she's his ride home and she hasn't responded to any of his text messages.

"No, the one who is _fourteen_. Who is _this_ guy?" Robb is pissed and Gendry looks mortified and Arya is defiant. The other band is really raging now and everything is suddenly much more intense and Jon is ready for some air so he stands up.

"I invited them both to the show. I didn't know she was your sister…or that she was fourteen." He tries to yell over the noise, sneaking Arya a wink and she snickers. "Here, you two, sit down. Make good with your brother, you little shithead." He rubs the girl's head affectionately, before turning to his girlfriend. "Want another drink?"

Ygritte slides out of the booth, her skirt rucking up, just shy of obscene. There's a tear in her fishnets, running along her inner thigh, and suddenly Jon is desperate to see how far it goes. Ygritte can get that drink later. He grabs her hand, dragging her against him. Before her kiss can land, however, he pulls her into the crowd, pushing dark bodies out of the way.

"This isn't the way to the bar." She teases as they enter the back hallway, and he pushes her against the wall. Several gig posters come untacked, and start to slip to the floor behind her, before he's got her properly pinned.

"You've a tear in your tights." He growls into her ear, and she attempts to catch his lip, but he moves his face just out of reach, keeping her in place. "I'm going to follow it," he's tracing the hole with his index finger, "all the way to that tight pussy of yours…" She's breathing louder. "With my tongue."

Like magic, the bathroom door opens beside them, and Jon catches it with an outstretched hand as a willowy, drunk girl stumbles out, her pale jumpsuit glowing like a moonbeam as she teeters back into the crowd. _Someone should make sure she's alright_. But it won't be him, because he's pulling his girl, wild and willing, into the bathroom after him.

He lifts Ygritte up onto the sink and she's got a wicked grin on her wicked face and she tries to catch him in a kiss again, but his lips have another destination in mind. He's crouched down, tickling the spot of bare skin along her inner thigh. Turns out the tear does not go nearly far enough, but no bother because it rips easily. He's about to shred it, when he hears the door open. _Shit. _He didn't lock it.

"Is my phone in there?" The girl's voice sounds young and unsure, and Gritte barks back.

"No! Your phone is not in my cunt, you cunt! Get out!" He glares up at her, but she's not looking at him, and then something brushes by him and gods, the girl is going to be sick. Jon stands, turning, and sure enough, it's the girl in the pink jumpsuit bent over the toilet behind him, her red hair everywhere.

"Shit!" He struggles to catch all the auburn strands in his hands, holding them out of the way. "Ah, so much hair. I think this is Robb's other sister."

He feels Ygritte hop off the sink.

"Robb? Is he here?" The girl whispers into the toilet bowl.

"Hold on. We'll get him. Gritte, can you go find him?" He's got a handle on her hair and it's just in time because she's retching again.

"Gross. It's pink."

"Come on, Gritte! She's sick." His girlfriend huffs behind him, before stomping out of the bathroom. The girl seems to be done, so he helps her sit back a little, before flushing the toilet. He is suddenly very aware of how disgusting this bathroom is. This is not the place for a girl dressed like a sexy orchid to be on her knees.

"I have to pee." A smaller whisper.

"Umm, okay." He helps her stand, and _holy shit_ she is tall. He rips some paper towel off the loose roll and hands it to her, but she keeps her face averted. "I'll just step outside, then. Robb will be here soon." She nods, and he goes back out into the hallway, rubbing his face with his hands. The music is really loud and the bar is absolutely packed. It's going to be a minute for Ygritte to squeeze back to their booth and bring Robb back.

"I need help." The girl cracks open the door, and a teary blue eye is peeking out at him. "With the zipper." _Fuck_. He slips back into the cramped bathroom, and her back is turned once again, and yeah, how would she possibly get out of this on her own?

"Okay, I'll just uh…" He fumbles for the hidden slider at her midback, and she shivers when his fingers graze her pale skin. He should have gone for Robb and left Ygritte to help the girl. "I'm Jon by the way….um, I know your brother."

"Oh, you're Manbun!" She starts to turn, and the movement has his hand sliding the zipper down to her ass, exposing pale lace. "Oh!"

"Ah! Sorry, Umm…what? Never mind, you should be good." He backs out of the bathroom again, and he can feel his ears burning. _Seven Hells. _A guy is coming down the hall towards the bathroom, but Jon shoots his arm out, blocking his way. "Fuck off!"

"I have to piss, man."

"Then fuck off to the alley, _man_." The guy flips him the bird, but turns back. He hears the toilet flush, and he waits a few beats before calling. "Are you alright?" Silence. He's about to ask again, when the door opens and she's standing there looking miserable and really, _really_ pretty…and so, _so_ out of place. "Hi." He extends his hand, like an idiot, and she just stares at him, looking confused.

"Where's Robb?" She sounds scared.

"Ygritte is looking for him. How about, we wait outside? It'll be quieter there." She nods, her eyes round, but she won't step out of the bathroom because, of course, the fucking zipper. He inches in behind her again to pull it up, and it snags, and _fuck_, why is everything about her so soft? Her skin and her hair and whatever this motherfucking jumpsuit is made out of, and ahh…It's up. Then he's taking her hand, leading her towards the front. When they pass the bar, Val calls out.

"Hey! Prince Charming!" He looks, and she's tossing him a bottle of water and her own leather jacket. He releases the girl's hand to catch them. "I was just about to leave the bar to look for her. She's a mess! Take her outside."

"I am!" She flashes him a thumbs up, before turning back to a group of guys doing shots. He drapes Val's jacket over the girl's shoulders before taking her hand again. Edd opens the door for them and they're in the alley and thank the gods, Robb is standing outside with a girl who is shivering in some short glittery gold getup and a guy who is playing with the set of keys dangling from his hand.

"Robb!" The girl releases him to stumble into her brother.

"Woah!" Robb is not ready, and Jon catches her before she really tumbles. Robb's eyes are wide, and he's a fucking deer in headlights.

"She needs to go home." Jon stares between the kid with the keys and Robb, and that snaps his friend out of his stupor.

"Shit! Yeah, where is the car, Loras?" The other guy points toward the main drag, and he sees the white SUV just on the other side of the street.

"When did she eat last?" Jon asks him, but the guy just shrugs, tossing the keys to Robb, and he'd love to wipe that stupid smirk of this guy's face. "Robb, why don't you get the car? You can pull it into the alley." She is sagging against him now. _Shit. "_How much did she drink?"

The stupid shit-head just shrugs again, but the other girl is at their side now, placing the back of her hand across the girl's forehead. "Oh Sansa! I'm so sorry! Here, have some water." She fumbles for the water bottle in Jon's other hand, and it's obvious that she is drunk too. When she has it open, she tilts it up to the girl, but she just shakes her head, curling into him, her face in his neck, and this _really_ shouldn't be affecting him, but it is.

"Hey, you should have some water." He murmurs into her hair, but she keeps shaking her head and of course she smells like a flower.

"Snow! What the fuck!" And there's Ygritte.

"Sansa! Holy balls!" Someone is cackling, and it's Arya ducking around them to look up at her sister, looking absolutely gleeful.

"You really are a little shit, aren't you." He mutters down at her, and she just shrugs. "She's your _sister!"_

"And she _never_ fucks up like this! This is like the sky falling. You don't even know, Snow!" But she's grabbed the water bottle away from the other girl, and she's actually getting Sansa to drink, so there's that. "Come on Sans. Just a little. That's it." Robb pulls up in the little SUV, and Arya darts around the car to the front passenger seat, and everyone else is just standing there, so it looks like he's going to get the girl into the car.

"Alright…come on. Your coach awaits."

He's practically carrying her at this point, but she manages to murmur, "Is it a pumpkin?" And he smiles.

"Nah, but do you still have your glass slippers?" She nods sloppily, kicking out to reveal a pointy toed heel at the end of her mile-long leg. He slides her into the backseat, reaching across her with the buckle, and she grabs the back of his head, scrunching his hair.

"_Bomp!_" He stares up at her and she has a goofy, adorable smile on her face as she stares back. "I _like_ your manbun." She whispers and Robb and Arya both groan in the front seat.

"Alright! That's enough. We're going home now, Sansa. Gods, I'm so sorry Jon! Feel lucky that you don't have sisters." Arya sucker punches Robb in the shoulder. "Oww!" and Jon closes the door, shaking his head. Before he can turn, Robb's window is down, and he's leaning out. "No seriously, thanks man! You sounded great tonight. Want to play Wednesday?"

"Yeah, sounds great!" He hears Arya say something about a date, and Robb is muttering back at her as the window rolls up and they drive off. The girl in gold and the shit-head are already tottering back towards the main drive, and when he turns he realizes that only Ygritte is left, leaning against the brick wall, a cigarette in her mouth, staring impassively back at him, her hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket.

"Well, shit. That was an odd end to the night." He gives her a wry smile, but she just shrugs.

"I don't know. You seemed to enjoy it." Her tone is dangerously casual and his stomach knots up.

"What?" _What the fuck is she pissed about now?_

"Playing the hero to a pretty girl. Holding her and putting your hands all over her-" She shrugs, pushing of the wall. Gods, she makes him sound like a fucking pervert. "What's not to like about that?"

"That's Robb's sister, and she was blind drunk…" His voice is low, and she sneers back him.

"Well, is that what you like, Snow? Dumb bitches in pastel who need you to hold their hair and take care of them because they're too stupid to take care of themselves?" Like he hasn't held Ygritte's hair half a dozen time as she puked all over her bathroom. He's fucking over this.

"Better a dumb bitch in pastel than an absolute _asshole_ in black!" As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets them, but Ygritte's whole body revs up.

"What?" She's in his face, and of course, this what she wants. It's all she ever wants. A fight or a fuck. No in between. "I knew it. That is what all you fuckers want. You want some pretty, dumb, rich girl whose going to make you feel manly as fuck because she'll never challenge you and she'll laugh at all your stupid jokes and let you jizz all over her designer clothes!"

He's going to bash his head into the wall. "Every guy isn't your fucking _dad_, Gritte! Stop making me out to be!" He's about to say more, but the door to the Flea opens and people are pouring out into the alley, and the fight leaves him. An arm wraps around his neck, yanking him to the side, but he doesn't look away from Ygritte's hostile face.

"I'm fucking starving! Let's get some grub." It's Theon, and then Satin and Pypp and Grenn are around them too, arguing about where to eat, and Jon watches Ygritte's face shift and just like that her eyes are twinkling and her voice is coy, and she's fucking flirting with Theon and bumming Satin's cigarette and _she_ thinks they should go to the diner, because pie, obviously. He's a fucking statue as they start to rove down the alleyway.

"Are you coming, Snow?" Ygritte turns back to him, and…

"No. I'm going home."

She shrugs, all nonchalant. "I _know_ you aren't my dad. I was just jealous for a minute." His feet don't move. "So come eat pie, already."

He sighs. "I'm tired. I'm going home." She rolls her eyes, shrugging again.

"Suit yourself. See you later, Snow. Wait up fuckers!" He doesn't stay to watch them walk way. He doesn't go home either. Instead he slides past a protesting Edd, and parks himself at the corner stool of the bar, farthest from the door.

"Last call was fifteen minutes ago." Val is wiping bottles down, her back turned, and he lets his forehead hit the bar top. "Gross. Wait." A gentle hand tugs for him to lift his face up, and she wipes under him with the rag, before letting his forehead drop again. "So, is my vintage leather jacket gone forever?"

"Shit…No. I'll get it back." He mutters into the wood.

"I know. I wouldn't have given it to you, otherwise. Want anything before I close up?"

"A lobotomy." Something large slaps his back, almost knocking the wind out of him and he sits up.

"This kid? I love this kid!" It's Tormund, Val's huge biker boyfriend.

"Hey Tormund."

"Always so glum, Snow. Why?"

"My girlfriend hates me." He should go home.

"Your girlfriend hates herself." Val slides him and Tormund each a beer, before pouring herself one. "She only _acts_ hateful to you."

"Is there a difference?"

She shrugs. "So break up with her. What are you? Seventeen?" He nods. "Well, you might not make it to eighteen. So you don't have time to waste with someone who treats you like shit." He doesn't know what kind of advice he was expecting, but it is Val, so he snorts into his beer.

"Well, I'm not always the nicest either."

"Says the man who took care of a drunk stranger tonight, and whose about to wipe down my booths for me." She smiles at him and he feels the corners of his mouth turn up. He sighs, taking the proffered rag, and makes the rounds. The last band is sitting in the far booth still, nursing some beers, but the rest of the bar has cleared out, so he turns up the lights and works with Tormund to grab the last of the glassware for Val to wash, while Edd counts the till.

"Check the bathroom!" Val yells to him.

"Why? It's always dirty!" But he wanders back there anyway, and sitting on top of the empty paper towel dispenser, next to the giant brown roll, is a small purse, with dragonflies embroidered on it, and he knows immediately that it belongs to the girl, Robb's sister…Sansa. He opens it and finds a cell phone inside, with a rose gold case. It's locked, but when he turns on the screen he sees that there are 12 messages from Robb, and more from a Harry, Marge, and the shit-head Loras. When he grabs his stuff from the back, he slips the purse into his backpack. He'll find a way to get it back to her easily enough. He walks out with Val and Tormund, and his car is parked by their motorcycles.

"Cool car, kid."

"It's a piece of shit that never runs right."

"Like all the coolest cars." Tormund laughs, strapping Val's helmet on her head before giving it a gentle knock.

"Then give me something lame." Jon scowls at them, all lovely and shit, with Val drowning in Tormund's leather jacket, and the big red head grinning down at her like a total goon.

Val turns, giving him a piercing look. "Are you good to drive, Snow?" He waves her concern away.

"Yeah, I just had the one beer. I'm just tired." When he gets home, the house is dark and his mom is asleep, and for that, at least, he can be thankful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "This Will Be Our Year" - The Zombies


	10. Sansa

There is a gradual reawakening of her senses. First, small fingers rubbing her hair in feather-light circles against her cheek. Next, her ears start to sort the toddler's semi-coherent whisper-singing, only a hair's breadth from her face, into decipherable words. "Let it go! Let it go! Power Rangers…Let it go!"

Finally, when the puffs of peanut butter breath feel dangerously close to making contact, she opens her crusty eyes to a cherubic face, inches away.

"What are you doing here, wolf cub." Her mouth is dry and tastes horrible, and when she moves her head it aches dully around her temples.

"Silly Sansan!" Rickon's blue eyes are twinkling as he plants a sticky kiss on her cheek.

"Ugh, not now Rickon." She pulls the blue sheets over head to hide. _Blue sheets?_ Her sheets aren't blue. She sits up, too fast, and nausea hits, forcing her to lie back down immediately. She is in Arya's room, on the trundle that pulls out from under her sister's bed. She glances at the alarm clock across the room. _Eleven a.m. _Panic, apprehension, and a confusing shame flood her and she feels sick. She sits up again, finding a trash can beside the mattress, which she stares into, unable to find the relief she seeks.

"Ewww…how are you not done puking yet?" Arya stands in the doorway, fully dressed, her headphones around her neck. Sansa stares up at her sister, blearily.

"Oh my gods…what happened?" Her mind is an achy blur as she tries to capture the events that have led her here. Arya's eyes soften and she shoos Rickon out of the room, toeing the trashcan out into the hall, and closing the door behind her.

"You don't do anything half-assed, do you, Sans? Not even teenage rebellion." Arya sits down besides Sansa, her legs pretzeled. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"Umm…going to a party at Joffrey's last night…" _Harry in the bedroom…shots…dancing…laughing…_"and not much after that."

"Ooph. Hate to break it to you, but you were a hot mess last night. You threw up all over your room, and Robb ended up waking up mom to help." Arya's tone drips sympathy, but she's not hiding her smirk very well, and Sansa throws her head back against the pillow.

"I'm dead. I'm so dead."

"I definitely thought I'd be the first to get in trouble this school year. You even had to show me up in that, didn't you." Sansa doesn't bother to respond to Arya, instead, forcing herself up from the mattress, ignoring the throbbing at her temple and the dryness in her throat. The anticipation of facing her parents is so overwhelming that she has to get it over with now, before her imagination runs wild.

She realizes, in growing horror, that she is wearing one of Robb's band t-shirts and Arya's track shorts. She looks at her sister, who shrugs.

"Robb and I tried to take care of you, but you wouldn't stop throwing up everywhere. There was no hiding it."

She steps into the hallway. The door to her bedroom is open and she can hear movement inside. She steps quietly forward, peeking in, hesitantly. Her mother's back is turned as she strips Sansa's sheets, wearing rubber gloves. Her comforter is already in a pile on the floor and the room smells stale and sour. As if sensing her, Catelyn turns, her gaze stony, before she grabs the bundle of soiled linen and pushes past her daughter and down the stairs.

"Mom…" Sansa doesn't know what to say, and her mother doesn't give her a chance, anyway. She follows Catelyn into the kitchen, but still her mother doesn't say a word before disappearing into the laundry room. Bran is sitting at the island, eating a sandwich, and he stares at Sansa like she's a ghost. She rolls her eyes at him, and he relaxes, turning back to his food.

Arya joins them, rummaging in the fridge while Sansa stands, frozen and unsure. Finally, her mother is back, whisking in and tutting at Arya like it's any other day. "Arya, don't just stand there with the refrigerator open. You're wasting energy." She grabs a bottle of ibuprofen from the cabinet above the dishwasher, sliding it across the island towards Sansa, along with a hastily poured glass of water. Catelyn still won't make eye contact, but she speaks to her eldest daughter, at last, staring out the window. "Your floors need to be washed. The mop and bucket are on the basement landing.There is Febreze under the sink, but I recommend you open your windows as well. I have to get to the store now, but Uncle Benjen is coming soon to take Bran and Rickon for the day. I think Arya and Mycah are going bowling. Robb already cleaned the car."

Sansa cringes. "Mom…" 

"Not now, Sansa! I'm too angry. We'll talk tonight, when your father is here." Her mom looks at her finally, the disappointment in her eyes clear as day, and Sansa wants to sob at her feet and beg forgiveness, but instead she nods meekly, and Catelyn is out the door moments later.

Sansa spends the next hour furiously washing her body and her room until her skin feels as raw as her emotions and her room smells like lemon and cleaning chemicals. Then, she collapses on her bed, falling into a dreamless sleep. She awakes to the sounds of a full house and the warm glow of late afternoon coming in through her open window. For the first time all day, she realizes she doesn't have her phone or Margaery's jumpsuit. She didn't see either while cleaning her room earlier, and when she creeps into Arya's room, they aren't there either. Downstairs she can hear her younger siblings bickering about setting the table for dinner, and she knows her window of avoidance has closed.

She creeps down the stairs, and Robb is the first to spy her, sitting on the couch, with his laptop.

"Decide to grace us with your presence then?" His eyes are stormy before they turn back to his screen, and everyone hushes for a moment as she clears the last step, before resuming their various conversations. Rickon is rolling on the floor, in front of the fire, with Shaggy. Her mother is at the stove, looking critically at a steaming pot, while Arya and Bran set the table in the dining room. Her father must be in his office. 

"Bran, how can you get the count wrong? We have the same number of family members every night!" Arya growls.

"But Uncle Benji is here tonight." Bran rummages in the silverware drawer, lifting his hands to count on his fingers.

"So, add one, Bran! There are seven of us, plus uncle Ben. It's not rocket science."

"Hello dear!" The man in question walks out of the powder room, flashing Sansa a warm smile before he draws her into a hug. "We missed you today. I took the boys to the flea market. I could have used your eye!"

"Hi Uncle Ben!" She hugs him tightly, thankful there is at least one adult present who won't judge her for last night's mistakes. She's heard enough of Uncle Benjen's stories to know that what he got up to as a teenager was far more delinquent than her one evening of underage drinking. He also ends up being a welcome buffer during dinner that night. His conversation with their parents about the business diverts attention from Robb and Sansa's unusual silence and keeps Arya from being able to land too many jabs at Sansa's expense.

"I still don’t understand why we should work for them. They stand counter to all of our principles of conservation and stewardship." Benjen has taken up the same argument he's been making all summer about working with the Lannisters. He is strictly opposed and even participated in some of the protests held by the wilding tribes when the Lannisters first got special dispensations to buy and develop previously untouched government-owned lands.

"Well, should we just let someone else get the commission, Benjen? How do you propose we pay our employees and ensure their families and ours can continue to thrive in the North if we turn down work?" Catelyn has sat firmly on the opposite end of this particular business argument, just as she has many times in the past. Uncle Benjen and her mother have never got on too well, but the last few months have been unusually tense, and Sansa feels for her poor father who has to stand between them, keeping the peace.

"Benjen, I'm as frustrated as you, but we can't stop the development now. They've blown through every suit thrown against them. If we work with them, we can at least steer the projects toward green principles. If we work with them, we have a seat at the table and are better positioned to make a stand. Also, as Catelyn said, we can funnel some of that money into the local economy. If we turn these jobs down, someone else will pick them up, who may not have the north's best interests at heart." Despite her growing anxiety over her own situation, Sansa finds the conversation fascinating, with no clear sense of who is more in the right. Reaching an impasse, the conversation at last turns to other topics, and Sansa stares down at her plate, feeling her mother's eyes on her once again.

"Alright, it's getting late and it's a school night." Catelyn pushes to her feet. "Bran and Arya, clear the table. Sansa, get Rickon ready for bed. Robb, in the office now."

Arya starts to complain about clearing the table after having already set it, but Bran elbows her with a murmured "read the room." The kids give their uncle hushed goodbyes, and Sansa escapes up the stairs with Rickon in tow, her stomach in knots. She's barely got her little brother in his Spiderman pjs before a glum Robb comes to relieve her of her duties.

"Robb…I’m sorry. Did I get you in trouble too?" She asks as he leans in the doorway. He rubs his head.

"S'fine Sansa." He sighs. "I don't know. Mom's just on me all the time, you know? Like, so what if I don't want to swim this year?" _What?_ Sansa doesn't have time to delve further because Catelyn is already yelling at her from the bottom of the stairs. Robb grimaces, giving her a shrug. "I mean, I'm not in as much trouble as you're going to be in, that's for sure." His face lightens and Sansa's stomach drops. 

"Thanks for the pep talk, big brother."

She hesitates outside the office door, listening to her mom whisper-argue at her dad. "Ned, her behavior last night was _outrageous_. Don't just sit there and minimize it when you see the first tear in her eye. I'm not going to be the villain here!" Ned's response is too muffled to hear, and just as Sansa is gathering courage to enter, Arya yells from the dining room.

"Sansa! Stop eavesdropping." Her face drips with malignant glee, and if Sansa weren't already in so much trouble, she's pretty sure she'd throw a vase at that brat's head.

"Come in, Sansa." Her mother's voice cuts through the sisters' standoff, and Sansa slips into the office, closing the door behind her. Her father sits behind the desk, looking tired while Catelyn stands behind him, her face stony. She nudges Ned's shoulder, prompting him to start.

"Well, Sansa, you put us through quite a scare last night." He motions for her to sit.

"I'm really sorry mom and dad." She stares at a worn spot in the rug. "It won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't happen again!" Her mother starts, and Sansa's eyes fly up to her parents. Her mom _never_ swears.

Ned only sighs. "Why don't you tell us what happened...in your own words."

_What happened? Hmm, well her stupid ex-boyfriend shattered her heart with an ill-timed blowjob, and Sansa drowned her sorrows in way too much punch. _"Umm…I drank alcohol, and I got sick."

"Obviously." Catelyn cuts in. "Where were you drinking? And with whom? What were you _thinking_?"

"Cat." Ned turns to his wife, and she huffs, ceding the floor.

"Umm, well Margaery and I went to a party."

"Where?"

"At Joffrey Baratheon's house."

"Sansa! We are working on very important deal with his mother. You could have jeopardized-"

"Cat." Ned cuts in, gently. "I hardly think Sansa's behavior at the party…inebriated or not…would have any bearing on our work with Cersei." Sansa sighs in relief, but it's short lived, as her father turns a stern eye back to her. "But that doesn't mean we aren't extremely disappointed, Sansa." _Cue the tears_. Sansa sniffs, trying to ward them off. "This type of reckless behavior is so unlike you. We expected more. You endangered yourself and others."

"It's not like I drove…" She offers, weakly, and Cat sneers.

"Is that supposed to make us feel better? That you let some _other_ irresponsible teenager drive our car? Who? And where did you go after the party?"

"What? Um…" Sansa regrets not getting her story straight with her brother. "Loras was the designated driver. He was to drive me to Dacey's house and give the keys to Robb."

"Don't lie, Sansa. You're only going to make things worse."

"I'm not lying!" She can feel her face coloring. "I…I don't remember anything after the party, okay?" That _is_ the truth after all, as embarrassing as it is to admit. She can't even look at her dad, when he speaks up, circumventing further wrath from Catelyn.

"Look, Sansa. I think you understand the gravity of your behavior last night. Obviously, there are going to be consequences as your mother and I reevaluate how much freedom you are actually equipped to handle…"

"Dad-"

"So, for now, you're grounded from all non-school or extracurricular activities." She nods at the expected sentence, though the lack of an end date is worrisome. "And, your driving privileges are revoked."

"What? Dad! How am I supposed to get around?"

"The same way you did before you got your license. Robb."

"But he has swim practice, like every day after school. What am I supposed to do?" Miranda used to drive her home sometimes, before she moved to the new side of town. The Starks live in the historic downtown district, and at this point Sansa doesn't have any Casterly Rock friends that live close by. 

"Well, maybe, if you hadn't quit show choir, you'd have something to occupy your time." Her mother snaps, and her father sighs again. _So much sighing_, Sansa thinks. _What are they going to do when Rickon is a teenager?_

"You can work on your homework on campus, while Robb swims." She knows there is no use in pressing further at this moment, but the idea of being without a car is unbearable. Robb typically gets a ride home from one of his teammates. She does _not_ want to sit at school, waiting for him, like some underclassman. As she turns to leave, her mother asks her to send Arya in as well. _Gods_, _what did she do? _Sansa has barely called to her sister, before Arya is muttering angrily at her.

"Gods, Sansa. You're such a narc! Do you have to drag everyone down with you?" Sansa has no idea what her sister is talking about but gets no chance to defend herself as Arya knocks into her on her way past. When she reaches her room, she can't even muster the energy to crack her laptop open. She's going to fall even farther behind in math and she _still_ can't find her phone, which is just going to make her parents even more angry with her…and she's going to have to see Harry tomorrow and interact with him and it's going to be so much worse than after he broke up with her. It takes a long time for her to drift off to sleep.

\-----

It's a moody drive to school the next day, after a tense morning at the house. Arya was acting totally feral, refusing to talk to anyone before storming off to school on her skateboard and Robb hadn't ironed his uniform, so Sansa had to listen to Catelyn chew him out at the door, almost making them late. Now, Robb drums his fingers against the steering wheel and the frenetic energy of The Nerves is jarring against Sansa's rapidly escalating anxiety about the day ahead. When he pulls into their usual parking lot and cuts the ignition, Robb turns to her, his face unusually serious.

"Don't worry about it, Sansa. There will be something new to distract everyone in a day or two."

"What are you talking about?" She stares at him blankly, and Robb's eyes go round.

"Umm, I just meant…like, the whole meme treatment. I thought it would bother you, but…of course, you're cool as a cucumber, right?" _Meme treatment?_ The school bell rings in tandem with the alarm ringing in Sansa's head and Robb frowns as blood rushes to her face.

"I don’t know what you're talking about." She admits. "I lost my phone on Saturday, and I haven't opened my laptop since." Robb gulps, looking down at his phone. "Just show me." She has to pry his phone away as they walk inside. She proceeds to scroll through a series of stock memes all edited with jokes about Sansa’s _pavlova_. Many are, well…completely embarrassing but, in the back of her mind, Sansa realizes she may one day be able to see the humor in them. Others, however, are vicious and one in particular makes her throat burn. "I cannot deal with this today."

"Like I said, Sans. It'll all blow over soon. High schoolers have the attention-span of gerbils." She knows Robb is right, but that doesn't make her day any more bearable. Harry has the good sense to sit as far as possible from her in their first two classes, but all day she is followed by snickering and especially rude boys who think they are the first one to call out to her. "_I'll_ eat your pavlova, Sansa!" She wants to melt into the floor.

Lunch time is even worse because she has to sit through her friends joining in on the joke, and act like it doesn't bother her. She knows that the moment she admits it's getting to her, it's over, so she smiles and laughs along like she's totally in on it. Margaery seems to find it especially amusing, and there is a tinge of acidity to her humor that Sansa doesn't understand.

"I mean, Sansa, I'm sure your pavlova is lovely and all…and let’s be real, what girl doesn’t want her pavlova savored, am I right?” She smirks, knowingly, and Sansa’s face burns. _Why must she always be blushing?_ “But do you really expect to get the proper appreciation, from an ass like Harry? Better to save your pavlova and instead, snack on something salty, with a little more substance to it, if you know what I mean." She has Wyn and Miranda doubled over, while Loras just rolls his eyes, looping arms with Sansa and steering her towards the dining hall exit.

"Ignore her. She's just put out about you and Joffrey."

"Me and Joffrey?" As if on cue, the Baratheon boy approaches them, hands in his pockets, his school tie loose around his neck and Loras gives her smirk, so like Margaery’s, before abandoning her.

"Hi Sansa." Joffrey steps close and she shifts uncomfortably, flitting a nervous eye towards her friends’ table. "Thanks to you, I actually enjoyed myself on Saturday. You were the one bright spot in an otherwise completely dull weekend."

"Oh! That can't be true. " She hedges. Now, more than ever, she wishes she had a better recollection of the night's events. Since she doesn’t, she opts for vague congeniality. "But thanks anyway, Joffrey. I had a nice time as well. Your house is really beautiful."

"You should come over again, then. I'll give you a private tour." There is something more than friendliness in his eyes, and she once again glances at Margaery. Just as she's about to mention her friend, in hopes of diverting Joffrey's attentions in a better direction, she spies Harry laughing with some of his friends nearby, because _of course_ he is somehow completely unaffected by the "meme treatment", as Robb put it, and Sansa fumes.

"Actually, that sounds like fun, Joffrey." She places her hand lightly on his arm, speaking a little louder. "I'm really interested in architecture, and I'd love to hear more about Oberyn Martell."

"It's a date then." He smiles, and something low swoops in her belly when she sees Harry watching them. "And…maybe if you're feeling up to it, you can bring over some of that famous pavlova of yours." Joffrey winks, and Sansa can feel her face heat up, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. But then reality comes crashing down in the form of a clearly angry Margaery who sweeps past without a word. Sansa chews her lip, guiltily.

"On second thought, I think I'll have to take a rain-check. I'm kind of grounded…or whatever." She attempts airy, nonchalance as she backs away from Joffrey. "But you know who else is interested in architecture?" He frowns at her. "Margaery!" She turns quickly away then, trying to catch up with her friend before the bell, but to no avail.

Precalc only adds to this unmitigated disaster of a day, with another returned quiz scoring far lower than Sansa’s usual standards. At the rate she’s going, she is certain she is going to end up ruining her GPA, losing her friends and all social standing before midterms. The bell rings, and the thought of facing an entire period with Harry, dissecting that poor dead cat, is completely unbearable. Mr. Baelish starts to say something to her on her way out, but she brushes past him, making a beeline to the office.

“Hi Mrs. Dustin” She approaches the school secretary. “I think my parents might have forgot to call in, but I have a dentist’s appointment this afternoon.” Her voice is a little breathy and uneven, but Mrs. Dustin only smiles warmly up at her.

“Oh no bother, Sansa. Just sign this form, and you can sign yourself out.” With newfound knowledge of how easy it is to leave school; Sansa briefly wonders how many Environmental Science classes she could miss without causing her grade to slip. She’s out the front door and halfway to her car before she remembers that Robb has the keys, and she’s not allowed to drive it.

“Shit.” She mutters, unable to return to school and unable to reach anyone, without a phone. With a jolt, she remembers she still has a bike locked in the rack, from freshman year, when she used to ride it to Winterfell after school…before she made friends and grew too cool to ride the old banana-seat. When she finds it now, the tires are flat and the chain is noticeably rusty, but there’s an air pump outside the gym, and the more Sansa thinks about it, the more she is sure Winterfell is the best place for her to be right now. Sansa always feels safe in Winterfell. In Winterfell she is strong. Plus, its only a few miles away. Surely her old bike can make it that far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!  
I know this took forever to post. I actually had much of this chapter written weeks ago and have been sitting on it because honestly, it doesn't really "spark joy" for me, but...I needed to get this 'consequences' chapter out of the way before we can get to the fun stuff, which is more Jon/Sansa!!! and Winterfell!!!! Which....I'm so excited about, so hopefully this post isn't too much of a drag...
> 
> Hope everyone is doing well and staying safe!


	11. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
Mentions of mental illness (specifically a parent with mental health issues - see end notes for more on this) & recreational drug use.

_When you snap your finger or wink your eye_

_I come a-running to you_

_I'm tied to your apron strings_

_And there's nothing that I can do (ooh)_

_Can't help myself (no)_

_No, I can't help myself (ooh)_

_'Cause sugar pie, honey bunch (sugar pie, honey bunch)_

_I'm weaker than a man should be_

_I can't help myself_

_I'm a fool in love, you see*_

Jon wakes up in his own bed to the sound of the Four Tops and the smell of breakfast sausage. In the kitchen, his mother stands over the griddle, singing under her breath and when Jon appears in the doorway, she turns a radiant smile his way.

"Good morning, darling." She pulls a mug from the cupboard and pours him some coffee. "I was just about to wake you up. The first pancakes are almost ready." He peeks in the trash bin, where her first attempts have been tossed. She peeks in too, laughing. "You know the first round never turns out."

"I know." He pads over to grab his mug and give her a quick half-hug. "What's the occasion?" He tries to remember the last time Lyanna made pancakes. It used to be their Sunday tradition, when he was still shorter than her. He's not sure exactly when it stopped.

"Well…" She flips a freshly made cake onto a plate and skirts past him to serve up some sausages as well, before turning back to him. "It's my last day here, and I wanted to make it special."

He stares at her, mind blank. "But I thought your plane doesn't leave until Saturday." She blinks, and her eyes look so huge, and Jon suddenly feels cold in just a t-shirt and old soccer shorts.

"I'm going to drive to White Harbor tomorrow morning and stay with Edie for a few days." She sits down across from him at their little table. "She's going to sell my car for me, and I figured you'd be busy with school and work this week anyway-" She trails off, and Jon feels like an ass.

"That makes sense." He offers. Edie Talhart is one of the few people in Lyanna's life who remains a constant; one of the few people in her life that Jon actually likes. When she moved to White Harbor a few years ago for a job, Lyanna really struggled, as did Jon. He supposes that it doesn't make much difference if his mother leaves tomorrow or a few days from now, and Edie will be better company for her than he ever is. Even now, he doesn't know what else to say, so he takes a bite of sausage, chewing carefully, and Lyanna fills the silence.

"So, with that in mind, I was thinking we could spend the day together. Do something that you like." She smiles at him and Jon again draws a blank. What is something that he likes that he can do with his mom? When was the last time they did anything together, just because?

"Sure…" He takes another bite. "That sounds nice. So, you're all packed and everything? You have everything you need for the move?" She nods brightly, and Jon listens to her list off all the arrangements she's made in the last few days and what she and Edie are planning to do in White Harbor, and she sounds so light and happy that he feels awful for the conversation he's about to start. He's been avoiding it for weeks, since she first brought up her plan to work at resort in Pentos, hoping it would die like so many of her other ideas have, but the clock is out and he can't let her prance off into the sunset without having it.

"Have you lined up a doctor yet? In Pentos?" He interrupts her, mid-sentence, to ask, and her face immediately shutters. When she responds, her tone has changed.

"When my health insurance gets set up, I will. I have to work there for ninety days before it kicks in." So, there will be a gap. Great.

"Well, have you talked though the move with Dr. Luwin? Will your prescriptions last until your new insurance kicks in? Does he have any recommendations for who you can see down there?" Her lips purse, and she looks so annoyed that he wonders if she'll retract the offer to spend time with him.

"What I talk about with my doctor is none of your business, Jon. I'm the adult here."

"You _are_ taking your medication still, aren't you?" He's been spending so much time at Ygritte's lately, he's stopped checking. He really is an asshole.

"Again, none of your business. Plus, I'm not sick anymore." She stands up, turning her back to pour more coffee and Jon wants to throw his mug against a wall. Instead he takes a deep breath, forcing his voice to stay even and calm.

"Okay. That's good. But…what if you get sick again?" He moves to flip the next round of pancakes onto a plate for his mom.

"Jon, I'm going to be in Pentos, where it's sunny and warm all year long. I couldn't possibly get sick there." Like people don't get sick in warm places. He wants to remind her that they aren't talking about frostbite or a seasonal cold. She didn't have fucking pneumonia, even if that is what she told her co-workers when she finally returned to work. But it's no use. He has learned, through experience, that speaking of her actual illness is a non-starter, and the quickest way to push his mom in the opposite direction than intended. So instead, they dance around it, pretending that Lyanna doesn't have bipolar disorder and that she didn't suffer a major depressive episode last spring that resulted in a three-week hospital stay and a mountain of debt that Jon is still hiding from her.

He shrugs, trying to keep it casual. "Well, if you were to get sick with _anything_, I just want to know that you have a plan, you know? You are the adult, but I’m your only family."

"Jon, I've been taking care of myself and you for seventeen years." Her brilliant smile returns. "For once, I'll only have myself to worry about." _Oh, yeah…He's the root cause of all her problems. Right_. He brushes away his annoyance. He should press more. Force her into a more concrete plan. Get some names and phone numbers. Extract promises. But she looks so beautiful and hopeful, and it's their last day together, and fuck it. He does want to have a nice day with her. Doesn't he deserve that? So, he pushes his reservations down, promising himself that he'll make more of an effort to check in on her regularly once she's gone, and that the first thing he'll save for is a plane ticket…just in case.

They end up at the zoo, of all places. Another childhood tradition. They used to go almost every week, sometimes multiple days in the summer, because its free, and Jon wanted to be a zoologist until he hit middle school. Now, he wonders if his aspiration was a result of the time he spent here or an independent desire. Either way, it doesn’t matter now.

It's a mild day and Jon and his mother stroll together, past the shiny new primate building to the older section, where the red wolf woods are. They have always been his favorite, and today they get the treat of spying the wolf pups that were whelped in the spring; hope for an endangered species. Sitting on a bench, shoulder-to-shoulder, regret hits him like a ton of bricks. His mom is leaving tomorrow morning, and he's spent the last five weeks avoiding her. Precious time, which he could have been spending with her, he's squandered out of juvenile anger. He's about to voice…something, when Lyanna breaks his chain of thought.

"We should go soon. Alliser is coming by with Janos to pick up a key and for you boys get to know each other."

"Mom," He groans. "Do we really have to spend your last night in town with Alliser-fucking-Thorne?"

"Oh Jon, it won't be long. And then we can order steamed buns and watch a movie. _Princess Bride_?" He supposes it's fitting that they pull out all the Snow traditions, few that they are, on his mother's last night.

\----

Jon is about to take off for the dumpling shop when Alliser's corvette pulls up, and for a moment Jon thinks he'll get away with pretending he didn't see, but then Thorne is pounding the hood of his car, motioning for him to roll his window down.

"Jon."

"Alliser."

"That's Officer Thorne to you, boy. I see you're as disrespectful as ever."

"Look, I've got somewhere to be."

"Running off to that lawless girlfriend of yours?" If he mentions Gritt's clothing, Jon swears by the old gods, he's finally going to punch the asshole in the face. Jon watches his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel for a moment, before another shadow blocks the window and he looks up. _What is his friends' dealer doing here? _

"This is my nephew, Janos. Your new roommate." _Fuck._ Jon knows Janos, though he didn't know his name was Janos. Everyone calls him "City Watch" because he's a fucking drug dealer who sells to high school students. _Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck!_ And, of course, he's a policeman's nephew. Jon is screwed. Like always.

"Hey man." He squints up at the jowly, red-faced young man beside Thorne.

"Hey, I know you!" Janos snickers. "You date the Ryk girl, don't you?"

"Yeah…"

"Damn. She's a fox. Good for you." Jon stares at his white knuckles. If he peels away now, with Janos leaning over his car, will it knock the prick over? Janos graduated from Winter Town High school two years ago, and everyone knows he charges less to girls and smokes them out for free, so Ygritte has become the de-facto weed purchaser in their friend group. Now that Jon is sitting only feet away from the creep, he wants to crawl out of his own skin. He’s a shitty boyfriend. Before he can make any bad decisions, however, his mom's voice calls from the porch, inviting everyone inside.

"It's so nice to meet you Janos!" She places a hand on Slynt's arm and Jon wants to throw up. "Alliser tells me that you're an artist." He is not. He's a petty drug dealer who serves underage delinquents like her son and his friends.

"Yeah, I do a lot of freelance graphic design."

Jon manages to turn his snicker into a cough. "Oh really?" He asks. "Is that how you're going to cover your half of the rent?" Lyanna sends him a sharp look, but Janos just laughs and shoots finger guns his way.

"Yeah man. You know it."

"And how are _you_ covering rent, young man?" Alliser sneers. "Who would hire you with that ridiculous hair of yours and complete lack of respect for authority?"

"I guess I'll have to resort to drug dealing..." Jon shrugs sarcastically, and Thorne turns away, scowling. Jon takes momentary pleasure in watching Janos's face grow pale, but the victory passes when he sees the disappointment in his mom's eyes. He should have taken up Ygritte's offer to live with her. He trails behind the other three as Lyanna gives Janos a brief tour of the little tract house. He notes, with increasing aggravation, that Alliser has helped himself to a beer from the refrigerator while Lyanna is excitedly recounting her own artistic dreams to an annoyingly interested Janos.

"-but then I had Jon, and well…you know, life happened. Moral of the story is, don't become a teen mother." She laughs, poking Janos in the chest with a giggle, and Jon really is going to be sick.

"I'm going to get the food now," he mutters, backing out the door, keys in hand, but no one pays him any mind.

By the time he's returned with the buns, his temper has cooled, but Thorne's car is still parked in the street outside. Inside, Janos is nowhere to be found, but Alliser has made himself comfortable on the couch, watching football while Lyanna sits beside him, pretending to be interested in sports. Jon realizes the odds that they are watching _Princess Bride_ flew out the window with Thorne's second beer. After placing the food on the table in the kitchen, he leans against the doorframe. "I actually forgot that I'm supposed to help Ygritte study for a geometry test tonight. I'm not going to be able to do a movie. Sorry Mom."

"Oh, Jon…are you sure?" Lyanna looks up at him distractedly, but then Thorne is shouting something at the tv, and Jon is out the door before he loses his mind. _Fuck this shit._ He's three blocks away before he remembers he has nowhere to go. Even if Ygritte did have a math test, he learned a while ago that she doesn’t study and she doesn’t take help from anyone, least of all Jon. He’s not in the mood to see her anyway. He's not in the mood to see anyone, so he drives around, listening to _Surfer Rosa _until he finds himself pulling over, across the street from the city park in the oldest part of town. He's in the historic district, only a few blocks from Stark Hardware, where every house differs architecturally from the next. The Neoclassicals with their formal hedges and perfectly manicured lawns reside beside bright, painted lady, Victorians with wraparound porches and messy cottage gardens that spill onto the sidewalk.

He pulls a bag of tobacco that conceals a smaller bag of weed from his glovebox and deftly rolls a spliff, before sliding out of the car. He raps the park hours sign with his knuckles as he walks by, waiting until he reaches the gazebo that stands opposite to his favorite house in the neighborhood, before lighting up. He rarely smokes, and almost never in company, but on nights like this, when his heart is hammering in his ears and his mind won't stop cycling through the same pointless ruminations, it helps.

The inhalation slows his breathing, and the immediate buzz lifts him up, as if he floats a few inches above the picnic table he's settled on. It's the hazy hour before sunset, when everything is cast in a warm glow, and the air is heavy and fragrant with the promise of rain. He's the only one in the park, but there is a couple walking their dog across the street, and he can hear voices through the open windows in the house beyond.

He's not sure why he loves it so much. It's not the largest, the most interesting, or even the most well-maintained in the neighborhood. It's an all-white foursquare with a few patches of peeling paint and a bottle green front door, set back on a corner lot with a large wraparound porch and a big willow tree that droops over a winding walkway covered in sidewalk chalk, bikes and a skateboard. The mess is part of the charm, Jon thinks. It's a house that looks lived in and well-loved.

He discovered it last year when he was working on a school project with Sam, who lives in an austere Tudor, a few houses down. They'd been sitting in the formal dining room, working on their project, when Mr. Tarly had come barreling downstairs to complain about all the noise coming from the white house.

“It’s a Wednesday night, not Woodstock!” Mr. Tarly groused. The high cedar fence, surrounding most of the property, obscured the source of the ruckus, but Mr. Tarly had a point. The sounds of music and merriment were distracting Jon too. Occasionally a high-pitched shriek would sound, followed by a chorus of laughter and Jon wondered what it would be like to live in a house with that much life. Ever since, he's been drawn to the home, where there is always a light on, and music seems to be playing at all hours of the night and day. The configuration of bikes, sports equipment, yard signs and holiday decorations constantly morph in size and arrangement, like constellations, outlining a life full of friends and family, across their lawn. 

Tonight, he can hear the dog barking in the backyard, and it sounds like the family within is eating dinner, based on the sounds of scraping dishes and the lights glowing from the first floor. He should probably feel like a lonely creep, getting high by himself in the dark, but his mind wanders to the wolves he watched in the zoo that morning, and he wonders if this is so different. The weed is hitting him in a pleasant way, and everything is tranquil and warm and even though he's growing hungry, he's doesn't want to leave the jewel-box of the gazebo and break the spell. He lies down across the table, tracing the weathered wood beneath his fingertips and he just zones out for a while.

At some point the sounds change, and he notices lights on the second and third floor blinking on. A door opens and shuts, a car starts, and an old pickup truck backs out of the hidden driveway and Jon wonders what it would be like to be their dinner guest. Based on the music that’s wafting out at him, they probably talk about politics and art over wine. They’re probably one of those families that eat salad as the _last_ course. The smoky voice of a woman singing, wraps around him like smoke and he feels a little drunk; on her, on the night, on his loneliness. 

_I lost myself on a cool damp night_

_I gave myself in that misty light_

_Was hypnotized by a strange delight_

_Under a lilac tree**_

His phone buzzes.

_Gritte: Ur gonna live with Citywatch? LIT._

\----

He calls in sick to school the next day, helping his mom put her too-few suitcases in the back of her car, before they say their awkward goodbyes. She’s overly cheerful while he’s even more sullen than usual. When he notices the shine of tears in her eyes, he decides that he’d rather watch an entire season of football with the detestable Alliser Thorne than watch his mother drive away. Of course, he can’t say that. That would be a ridiculous thing to say. He’s seventeen and his mom is about to leave, and if he’s supposed to be such a fucking genius, like everyone always says, shouldn’t he have something eloquent to say to her?

“Oh Jon!” She pulls him into a hug, and he’s struck again by how small she seems. “My brave boy.” Pulling back she stares into his eyes. “This will be good for both of us. We both have so much living to do.” _Apart_. Which makes sense, he supposes. That’s what you do when you grow up. You fly the coop. Spread your wings and all that…except shouldn’t it be him flying, and not her?

“Bye mom. Call me when you get to Edie’s.” He opens her door for her, and even slaps her hood as she starts to pull out, but he can’t watch her drive away. He’s back in the house, staring at the clock on the stove before she’s half-way down the block. He gives himself sixty seconds of silence and then he’s a man on a mission.

He’s listened to _Funeral_ twice through before he’s finished moving all his belongs from his closet of a room to the larger one down the hall, that his mother occupied. She left her queen-size bed which is a notable upgrade to his twin. He also nabs the TV from the living room. A quick trip the hardware store, and he has shiny new locks installed on is bedroom and closet doors. He went to the big box off the highway. No point in flaunting his truancy to Catelyn Stark only days after she hired him. By noon, he’s pulled the few personal photos down from the walls, stashing them away as well, and he feels faintly more at ease about his living situation. Before he can lose the sense of accomplishment, he’s off to the library to speed through a few more linear algebra sections, and then…on to the lumberyard.

As he drives past Casterly Rock Academy, with its ivy-covered sandstone façade and tree-lined drive, he understands why people send their kids there, if they’re able. It’s a hell-of-a-lot more romantic looking than the squat seventies eyesore that is Winter Town High, and as a bonus, one can see the Winterfell Castle ruins from its front lawn. His phone indicates that he’s minutes away from the address Catelyn wrote on his folder, and he figures they took the name for the lumberyard, due to their proximity to the ancient castle, felled five hundred years ago, during the second long night.

It looms larger as he drives, and when his GPS tells him to turn off on a gravel lane pointing straight towards the castle, he curses under his breath. _Was this some kind of prank?_ Catelyn Stark didn’t seem like the hazing type, he thinks, driving slowly over the uneven approach, cringing every time an overgrown branch brushes against the side of his car. When the path opens, revealing a gravel lot and a few modern pole buildings standing one hundred yards before the _literal_ outer walls of Winterfell Castle, he swears again. He’s staring, slack-jawed, through his windshield when a gaggle of dogs come tearing from around the corner of the closest building, barking their heads off around his car. Behind them, a gruff voice calls out.

“Shut up, idiots! You’re scaring the business away! Hey, are you Jon? I’m Ben.” Jon gets out of his car as the man behind the voice emerges and the first thought that comes to mind is that _he’s so fucking metal_. Then, with a jolt, Jon understands Catelyn’s comment. Benjen Stark is a wiry, long-faced man around his mom’s age with a mane of long black hair hanging past his shoulders, a black t-shirt, black jeans, and black boots. “Shattered” is blasting from the open door that he just emerged from, and Jon has never been more excited about a new job. “Sorry about the pack. Get down, Greywind!” The older man swats gently at the biggest dog, a shepherd of some kind, who is trying to crawl up Jon’s side. “They’re harmless.”

“It’s fine.” Jon laughs, kneeling to pet the gentle Samoyed with the pretty blue eyes. “I love dogs.”

“Well, that’s good, because these pests will never leave your side. That’s Lady, there. This brute is Greywind,” Benjen indicates the one that’d been jumping, “and these two are Nymeria and Summer.” A Doberman and a Border Collie hang back, watching Jon. “And I’m Ben. Did I say that?”

Jon laughs. “I’m Jon. I hope it’s okay that I came a bit early. When Mrs. Stark told me to drive to Winterfell, I didn’t realize she meant the _actual_ castle.”

Benjen glances back, giving the castle a rueful look. "Well, we are the Starks after all." Its a common northern name, so the fact that he's stumbled across the direct descendants of the ancient kings-in-the-north is pretty unbelievable to Jon, though Benjen seems keen on minimizing the association. "It's just a lawsuit waiting to happen these days…a few acres of crumbling rock. Anyway, let me show you around."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music:  
I Can't Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch) - Four Tops  
Surfa Rosa - Pixies album  
Funeral - Arcade Fire album  
Shattered - Rolling Stones  
Lilac Wine - Nina Simone
> 
> Hello all,  
This chapter was getting long so I'm splitting it into two. Next chapter is another Jon POV and moving onto lighter territory (and more Jonsa). Sorry, it turns out I'm a bit of a melancholy writer. Even when I think I'm going to write something happier, it turns a bit glum. 
> 
> This story is personal for me as I'm exploring some topics from my own life and the lives of those closest to me, specifically parents and family members with mental illness and the effects it can have on everyone around them, especially their children. I'm by no way trying to paint a blanket picture that people who have bipolar disorder are bad parents or trying to use mental illness as the excuse for Lyanna's bad parenting or to villainize her. I'm just working through feelings/thoughts I have about my own experiences and the experiences of those I love having close family members with personality disorders. 
> 
> The tone shifts considerably lighter in the next chapter, which is part of the reason I split it into two. Jon and Sansa meet again and the flirting and mutual pining begins! This story will have a happy ending.


	12. Jon

Unfortunately, Benjen's tour does not include the hulking piece of history across the field, but the lumberyard turns out to be interesting as well. The dogs trail behind them as Benjen walks Jon through the yard, rattling off the different sections and types of lumber at a pace that has Jon regretting that he didn't bring a notebook.

"It's a pretty small operation, these days." Benjen says, as they duck into the smallest of the buildings, with a faded "Open/Closed" placard hanging from its door. "We mainly supply Stark Construction projects and a few other local contractors. This is the office where we keep the accounts." He knocks on a dusty, ancient computer. "It's not much to look at." It's a closet of a room with a buzzing fluorescent tube dangling above a cluttered desk and a single, blind-covered window pointing toward the parking lot. "This'll probably be where I'll have you help out at first, though. Cat says you're good at math, yeah?"

"I'm all right." Jon hedges.

"Good. I keep track of everything on a couple of excel workbooks, and Cat is always getting on me about how behind I am." He points to several precarious stacks of loose papers and receipts. "Before I start training you on any of the fun stuff, I want you to help me get this shit in order. No forklifts or power saws until this is dealt with, okay?"

Jon nods, feeling slightly less enthused.

"Sorry in advance for my chicken-scratch handwriting. You'll probably want to drop an anvil on my head before the day is through." Benjen laughs, before giving Jon a cursory explanation of his extremely rudimentary spreadsheets and haphazard "piling system" as he calls it. Once Jon more or less has a handle on the task, the older man leaves him to it, heading back towards what must be his workshop, across the yard. Moments later, Mick Jagger's voice carries through the open door, and Jon slumps into the rickety chair, resigned to his fate. The rest of the dogs have disappeared, but Lady wanders in, a few minutes later, and curls up in a dog bed in the corner.

"Come to commiserate?" Jon asks her. "Fifty points to House Stark for Benjen looking like a total badass, but I'm deducting twenty for his abysmal organization skills." He spends the next hour trying to make sense of the mess. He pretty quickly realizes that it'll be more efficient to start over with his own spreadsheets that use actual formulas and from which he can create some macros, than it would be to continue using Benjen's 'method' which involves an old graphing calculator with sticky buttons and scraps of thermal paper from the register.

He's in a real groove when his new boss pops his head through the door. "I'm going to grab some lunch in town. You want anything?" Jon glances at the clock. 

"Um, I'm okay. Thanks."

"Cool, well if you change your mind, just call. My number is on the bulletin somewhere." Jon glances at the board behind him, layered in papers. _Right._

"What if someone shows up while you're gone?"

Benjen shrugs. "They won't. And if they do, it's probably someone from S.C. They'll be able to help themselves. And if it’s someone else, sic the dogs on them." Finally, a customer service policy that Jon can get behind. As soon as he hears the truck drive away, he regrets not asking for food. Like an idiot, he forgot to grab something on his way out of the house, but he also feels foolish asking for lunch on his first day, especially when he has nickels to rub together for cash. He stares at the still considerable pile of papers in front of him and sighs because it looks like he’ll be here awhile.

He's struggling to decipher an invoice that's clearly been spilled on, when the dogs start barking. He can hear them tear around the side of the building as something skids across the gravel, followed by a feminine shriek.

"Greywind! No! Ahhh!" There's a crash right outside his door and the dogs are still going crazy. Jon rushes outside, trying to pick out what is happening underneath the pile of fur. "Get _off_, you monsters!" A girl yells.

"Hey, get out of here!" Jon joins in, pushing the big shepherd out of the way to reveal a busted-up bike and underneath it, a tangle of blazing red hair, slender limbs, and a bunched-up prep school uniform. "Are you okay?" He averts his eyes when he notices where the girl is struggling to right her upturned tartan skirt.

"Ugh! Can _anything_ go right, today?" She fumes, and he recognizes her as the girl from Saturday night; Robb's sister, Sansa. He pulls the bike off and extends his hand to help her up, but she ignores it, hiding her face beneath a curtain of coppery hair as she brushes herself off. "Sorry," she glances up at him. "I'm just having a _shit_ day." Her blue eyes are red-rimmed, and she looks absolutely miserable.

"Well, um…your uncle just went to grab lunch, but let me help you get cleaned up." There is blood running down her leg, trickling into her knee-high socks.

"My uncle?" She looks up at him again, looking confused. "How do you-" She claps a hand over her mouth and Jon thinks, _here it comes_. "You must be Jon Snow." She breaks into a smile. "I forgot Robb's new friend was going to work here. Hi! I'm Sansa, Robb's sister." She holds out a hand for Jon. "Though, you must have realized that already with the red hair and all." _Holy shit._ She does not remember meeting him. He blinks back at her, stupidly, for a moment before he comes to his senses and pulls her to her feet. She winces and he can feel the bits of gravel embedded in her palm.

"Nice to meet you, Sansa. Now, come on. Let's get you cleaned up." He grabs her backpack for her and when she starts to limp after him, he offers his arm as well.

"Thanks, this is so embarrassing." She smells like clean sheets and springtime. "Not the most dignified way to meet someone, right? I swear I'm not usually this much of a disaster." He holds back his amusement as she continues, oblivious. "I haven't been on a bike in a while, and the chain seized, and I forgot how to stop on gravel. Wait-" She tugs back at him. "The bathroom is this way." She nods towards the building Benjen had been in. "Did Uncle Ben not even show you the bathroom?"

"Erm..."

"Please don't quit. He's not exactly house-trained, but I promise you, Benji is actually wonderful, and if you quit, Robb is going to be heartbroken." She continues chatting, all sunny and sweet, as they hobble into an immaculate, well-lit workshop. He wants to assure her that there is no way he'd quit, but he's feeling strangely tongue-tied. There is an assortment of carpentry and furniture lying around the space, ranging in style from intricate turn-of-the century armoires to sleek modern credenzas, all in various states of repair. "The bathroom is back there." She points to the far corner that has been partitioned off from the rest of the shop and converted into a lounge area with an oriental rug, a few mismatched couches and a small kitchen. There is even a skylight above that's been propped open to let in fresh air.

"He's got me penned in the janitor's closet, while he's living like a king in here?" Jon gripes, and Sansa laughs again.

"You should hear my mom complain about that pigsty. She comes to Winterfell once every few months just to yell at Uncle Ben about the state of his bookkeeping. I'm pretty sure he only steps foot in there when he knows she's coming ‘round."

"Well, that certainly explains a lot."

He helps her into the bathroom and immediately feels awkward again, flashing back to Saturday night. She is too busy staring at her knee to notice.

"I hate blood." She sighs, her face pale.

"You're not going to faint on me, are you?"

"No. It just makes me a little queasy." _If this ends in vomit again…_Without thinking it through, Jon places his hands on her waist and lifts her onto the countertop. She gives a little huff of surprise, and they're face-to-face with his hips pressed between her thighs. She has a dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks, which are a lovely peach color, and gods, his hands are still on her waist. 

"Um, what hurts then?" He asks, stepping back.

"Besides my ego?" She scrunches her nose and Jon isn't really sure what's wrong with him. Maybe it's the school uniform. "Just my knee. I think it'll be fine, though."

"Do you know if there's a first aid kit around?"

"Yeah, there should be one in the cabinet. She gestures beneath her, and he crouches down, refusing to engage with what those damn socks are doing to him. His hair keeps falling over his eyes, so he sweeps it back with the tie he keeps around his wrist, and above him there is a sharp intake of breath.

"Oh no…" She whispers, and Jon glances up as a horrified expression crosses Sansa's face. And there it is…she's remembering. Her face is flushing a rosy pink and she covers her eyes with her hands.

"So, I'm guessing Saturday night is coming back to you, then." He stands up, first aid kit in hand.

There's a strangled sound coming from behind her hands. "I'm so embarrassed. Don't look at me."

"Don't be." Her face is scarlet beneath her fingers, and the sight is doing something strange to Jon. He’s not quite sure what to do.

"Why didn't you say _anything_?" Her voice lilts up as only a teenage girl's can.

"I didn't want to embarrass you." Or himself, for that matter.

"I threw up in front of you! I was disgusting."

He smiles. "You're hardly the first person to get sick at The Flea. And you weren't disgusting. Honestly, it was like if Sweetberry got too drunk. You might as well have been puking up rainbows."

"_Sweet berry_?" One cobalt eye peeks out between her fingers. "As in, the My Little Pony named Sweetberry?" _Gods_. Why did that come out of his mouth?

"Umm…yeah?" He grabs the side of his neck, where his tattoo is, feeling incredibly awkward.

"You know their names?" There is the beginning of a smile in her voice and his cheeks are growing warm.

"My girlfriend was into My Little Pony when she was younger. She still has some of them lined up on her dresser." _Stop talking_, _Snow_.

"And you know their names." She's definitely grinning now, her hands steepled at her chin, and he's definitely blushing.

"Look, now we both have something embarrassing on each other, so we're even." He really needs to stop getting stuck in bathrooms with this girl. 

She laughs and its music. "I think it's cute that you know their names."

He averts his eyes. "Whatever. Let's get your knee cleaned up." Settling the first aid kit on her lap, he inspects its contents. There is gravel in the scrape, so he carefully works to wipe it away before applying antibiotic ointment. She is silent, but he can feel her calf muscle tense up where he holds it with his opposite hand. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I keep…interrupting you, and you keep graciously helping me." He looks up and her cheeks are rosy again, and _shit…_she clearly remembers more than he'd like her to.

"Umm, it's no problem." _It’s not a big deal,_ he tells himself. _Just face it._ "Probably for the best that you er…interrupted when you did on Saturday night. Turns out, that bathroom is pretty gross."

She laughs. "Oh, thank the gods. It _is._ I was _really_ trying not to judge you." His ears are burning as he applies the bandage. "I mean, I probably saved you and your girlfriend from a gross dive bar disease…"

"Hey, now." He attempts a dirty look.

"Sorry! Too far?" But he's smiling, and she is too. He helps her slide back to her feet, and she's not quite as tall as she seemed the other night. Her merry blue eyes are almost level with his, and she is so fucking pretty and…he takes a step back with a sigh. _Get a grip, Snow. _

"I think I have your phone."

Her eyes grow wide, and she grabs his arms. "Really?" She's beaming. "You really are a hero! I'm already in so much trouble over Saturday night. I didn’t want to admit to my parents that I lost my phone as well." They walk back out to the office and he pulls the dragonfly purse out of his backpack where he had forgotten about it until now. She is still beaming at him. He glances at the clock.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" His tone is ruder than he meant it to be, but there is no way school is out yet at Casterly Rock.

"Oh…um…" She looks flustered. "I just came to see Uncle Benjen."

Why did he ask? It's really none of his business. "Well, he should be back soon. Like I said, he just went to grab some lunch." He turns back to his work, fully expecting her to head to the workshop to wait, but instead she pulls a charger and a pair of earbuds from her backpack. Plugging her phone into the outlet by the dog bed, she settles down next to Lady, pulling the dog's head into her lap. Almost immediately, she's singing under her breath and Jon watches her thumb through her phone for a moment while she strokes the dog's ears. It's hard to pull his eyes away and return to another stack of invoices.

He's horribly distracted; by the contours of her voice, and the familiarity of the tune she's singing, yet his inability to name it; by her long, long legs crossed at the ankle; by the tip of her pink-laced oxford bopping in time to the music; by the cascade of auburn hair that she's twisted over her shoulder and by the way her burgundy necktie hangs loose under her collar. A flush of guilt hits him as he remembers Ygritte's accusing tone from Saturday night. He's as bad as she thinks he is.

While he's busy censuring himself, Sansa has stopped singing. When he glances up next, her face is pale and her brows are pinched together as she stares down at her phone. She looks like she might cry.

"Are you okay?"

She looks up at him, blinking. "Oh? I will be…I'm just trying to figure out how my life became such an embarrassing mess."

"Look, you really don't have to worry about Saturday night. Like I said, it happens to the best of us…"

He gets a weak smile in return. "Believe it or not, that is not what I'm talking about." She stands up and hands him her phone. "My boyfriend recently broke up with me, and I walked in on him with another girl at a party…and I said something stupid, which got turned into a dumb joke." She explains, as he scrolls through a series of gifs and memes, all having something to do with a whipped cream dessert. "I don't even know why it's upsetting me. It's stupid and everyone will forget about it in a day or two…and gods, I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this." She takes her phone back, blushing again. "Sorry. I'm being really lame. I'll leave you alone now."

He just stares as she packs her stuff into her bag. When her hand reaches the door, he blurts out the first embarrassing memory that comes to mind.

"So, I was a really big Harry Potter fan, right, because what kid isn't?" She pauses, looking back at him, and he speeds through the rest of the story. "But I hadn't seen any of the movies, and in seventh grade we had to stand up and give a speech about our favorite book character, and I gave mine about Hermione Granger, because, let's be honest, she's the real hero of the story…but, again, I hadn't seen the films and because I'm an idiot, I pronounced her name Hermy-own and undercut my entire argument. At the end of my speech, the rest of the class burst into laughter and everyone called me Hermy-own for the rest of the school year." He lets out a dramatic sigh and Sansa just stares back at him, her lips parted.

Right when he's ready to crawl beneath the desk, she gives a breathy laugh, her facing lighting up into the most delightful smile. "Your favorite character is Hermione Granger?"

"Well…it was seventh grade," he starts. "But I mean…yes, she is probably still in the top ten…okay, top five," he admits with a shit-eating grin that mirrors the one on Sansa's face. They're just staring at each other, grinning like loons, when Benjen's truck pulls up the drive and the dogs start barking like crazy again. Jon follows Sansa outside where she greets her uncle.

"Sansa!" He yells. "What is my favorite oldest niece doing here?" He lifts her from her feet in a hug, and she squeals.

"I needed to get away and lick my wounds."

"Well, you've come to the right place, kiddo." He nods at Jon. "This one giving you any trouble?"

"No. He's been perfectly chivalrous. Patched me up and everything." She points down to her knee, explaining her unfortunate tumble.

"Why'd you bike here?"

"I'm grounded from the car." She pouts, and her uncle nods, thoughtfully. "Yeah, I heard something about your antics over the weekend. Come on, girly, sit with me while I eat, and I'll tell you a tale that'd turn your mom's hair gray." Jon starts back to his jail cell, but Benjen is waving him over as well. "You too, Snow. I got you a burrito. I hope you like chorizo."

"You didn't have to-" Jon starts, but the older man interrupts.

"No shit, I didn't. But I was a teenage boy once, too. I know you're just a bottomless pit of hunger and hormones. Come on." Back in the shop, Benjen collapses on the nearest couch, throwing the takeout bags and his boots up on the massive coffee table, while the dogs crowd around him. "Sansa, put some music on, will you?"

Jon takes the smaller sofa, gazing up at the wall of records that had gone unnoticed during his first pass through the space. Sansa is unfazed by the options, finding an album at once. When she places it on the spindle, he chokes back his surprise at her choice.

_Cold, late night so long ago_

_When I was not so strong you know_

_A pretty man came to me_

_I never seen eyes so blue_

_You know, I could not run away it seemed_

_We'd seen each other in a dream_

_Seemed like he knew me, he looked right through me, yeah_

_"Come on home, girl" he said with a smile_

_"You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile_

_But try to understand, try to understand_

_Try, try, try to understand, I'm a magic man"*_

He wouldn't have pegged her as someone into seventies rock. Benjen just grunts in approval, tossing a burrito into Jon's lap. "So, you got drunk and got caught? Is that the gist of it?" He asks as Sansa takes a seat on the arm of Jon's sofa, her feet resting on the table as well.

"Pretty much." She shrugs.

"Small change. I think we all know I was a hellraiser in my youth, but let me just tell you about your dad…"

"The honorable Ned Stark? No!" She puts her hands to her cheeks in mock horror, but her eyes are full of interested mirth.

"Better believe it. When he and Brandon were in high school, they threw a total rager in the godswood of Winterfell."

"Really?" Sansa is interested now, leaning forward.

"Yes. Complete with kegs, drugs, and a few local bands. There were probably two hundred teenagers there." Benjen expounds on the supposed excess, but Sansa seems skeptical.

"And how do you know all of this? What were you? Ten?" She scoffs.

"Twelve…and I was there. When I heard what Bran and Ned were planning, I snuck out and rode my bike all the way to Winterfell on my trusty 10-speed."

"Gods, you were a little demon. I know where Arya gets it now." Sansa teases, and her uncle laughs, throwing bits of steak to the dogs. "Come on. Don't leave us in suspense!" She toes his boot.

"Okay, so your mom was there too-"

"I'm dying. Go on." Jon is amused by Sansa’s reactions alone. She's extremely expressive; her face painting a clear picture of each minute emotion she's feeling.

"Just wait. It gets better. So, she was there, and you know-" Benjen hesitates.

"I know she used to date Uncle Brandon." Sansa says quietly, when her uncle flashes her an awkward glance.

"Yeah, so she was dating Brandon at the time, and there was this other guy there…this dweeby little weasel of a kid, Petyr Baelish."

"Ah!" Sansa claps, excitedly. "That's my precalc instructor! The man is a total creep."

"Ugh, gross." Benjen shudders. "Well, he was a creep then too. Kept hovering around Cat, acting all weird and finally, when Brandon tells him to leave her alone, the idiot takes a swing at him."

"At Uncle Brandon?" Her eyes are saucers.

"Yeah, Brandon, captain of the hockey team, affectionally known as 'Penalty Box', for all the on-ice fights he'd get into…Petyr-fucking-Baelish took a swing at him. So…you know, Brandon swung back."

"Oh no." Sansa looks truly alarmed now, and Benjen chuckles.

"Don’t worry, toots. Your dad stepped in and broke it up, but Petyr kept wailing about his bloody nose and threatened to call the police…so guess what Ned did?"

"What?"

"He locked him in the guard tower until Petyr sobered up the next morning."

"What? No way. My dad did not kidnap someone!" She slips into the seat besides Jon in a fit of giggles and Jon's whole body feels warm.

"I mean, I don't know if I'd call it 'kidnapping'…but I suppose it was a few shades less than legal."

Sansa buries her face in her hands, laughing. "How am I supposed to look at my teacher straight, after this?" She grouses, and Benjen just leans back with a shrug.

"Not my problem, kiddo. But…did it work?"

"What?"

"Do you feel better now?"

"Much!" She's nodding animatedly and there must be something wrong with Jon, because it takes him half a moment to realize she's turned her bright gaze on him. "Aren't you hungry?" She's eyeing his burrito, and he realizes that he's failed to take a bite.

"Famished."

She laughs again, shaking her head. "Jon Snow, I think we'll keep you; manbun and all. Uncle Ben, please don't scare him away."

"Something tells me, a kid with the anarchy symbol inked on his neck doesn't scare too easily." Benjen laughs, rising to his feet, throwing his trash away in the bin beneath the sink.

“Anarchy symbol?” Jon holds his breath as Sansa leans closer, inspecting his neck, her fingers grazing lightly over his skin. “Oh. I just figured your middle name was Aegon or Aemon or something like that.”

Jon snorts, patting her thigh as he rises too. “Something like that.” Some madness grips him then, and he winks at her while Benjen’s back is turned. “I’m going to eat this burrito in my hovel across the way. At this rate, my hair is going to be a long as yours, Benjen, by the time I’m done cleaning up the accounts.”

Benjen throws his head back in amusement. “There it is. I was wondering when the snark would come out. Alright, punk. We’ll keep you." Jon smirks, knowing he's passed some unwritten test. "Now come on, Sans, let me show you what I’ve been working on.” He ushers his niece to his workbench, where she starts excitedly discussing furniture design with him and it takes all of Jon’s willpower to march his legs out the door and back to his work. His only comfort is that Lady accompanies him to his fluorescent cell…and the burrito is, in fact, delicious.

"Okay, Lady. One hundred points to House Stark for good taste in food and for Sansa Stark's ineffable charm. Deduct fifty points from House Snow for being pathetically basic over a plaid skirt and stockings."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you to everyone who posted such lovely comments on the last chapter. I haven't had a chance to respond to any yet, because I was busy finishing up this chapter, but I definitely plan to!
> 
> I wanted to get this up and posted, because I was feeling so sad about leaving Jon where he was in the last chapter, and I was missing Jon x Sansa interactions...hopefully this cheers anyone who was also feeling blue! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! thanks for commenting. You are all great!
> 
> Also, if you can't tell, I've been reading some Harry Potter fics. lol!
> 
> Music:  
Magic Man - Heart


	13. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, friends. Back by popular demand - more adorable Benjen, Sansa, and Jon. 
> 
> I will need to catch up on some work this holiday weekend because I could't stay away from these three this afternoon....hope you enjoy!

While Uncle Benjen shows off what he's been working on, Sansa's mind follows the enigmatic Jon Snow back across the yard, trying to re-trace the last hour or so. She talked a lot, didn't she? Oh my gods, why did she talk so much? And she touched his tattoo…_who does that?_ She can't even stand to think about Saturday. He must think she's tragic; vomiting in front of him…getting stuck in her jumpsuit. How much did he even see? And to make everything worse, she just straight-up didn't remember any of it. She's a total catastrophe.

For some reason, in his presence, these insecurities had flown right out of her mind. He was just so kind about it all; helping her once again, minimizing her embarrassment, even sharing funny anecdotes of his own that diverged wildly from the persona Jeyne had described. Is it common for people who do butt stuff to also know My Little Pony? Instead of calling her a dirty slut when they’re having sex, does he call his girlfriend Dazzleglow or Sweetblossom…maybe Strawberry Scoops? Sansa giggles at the thought, drawing her uncle's attention.

"Everything okay there, kiddo?"

"Yeah." She grins. "It is."

"Do I need to be worried about you cutting class?"

"No…do I need to worry about my parents finding out that I cut class?"

"No."

She hugs her uncle from the side, squeezing him tight. "You're my best uncle."

"I'm your only uncle." He murmurs, but he pats her arm affectionately. "Alright Princess. Now get out of my hair, I need to get some work done this afternoon. This dining set needs to be dropped off by four today. Is Robb coming to pick you up?"

"Oh." Sansa walks her fingers across the smooth surface of the hutch he'd been showing her. "Can you maybe give me a ride back to school?" She'd originally planned to bike back before Robb's swim practice ended. Now, she's not really keen on her brother knowing that she cut class or that she spent an hour embarrassing herself in front of his new friend.

"I've pulled all the seats out of the truck." Of course, he did. Troublesome old misanthrope.

"I mean…it's like two minutes away. I can crouch, or something."

"Why don't you skip over and ask the anarchist for a ride?"

"I don't know that he'll appreciate coming to my rescue a third time in so many hours…"She trails off at her uncle's intrigued look. "I've kind of been a thorn in his side."

"He didn't look too bothered by you, earlier."

"He's got a girlfriend." She blurts out. _Why did she say that? What does that have to do with anything?_

Her uncle chuckles, shaking his head. "I didn't ask…and, also not sure why that would preclude you from being friends or just acquaintance that share rides once and awhile. Plus, I'm his boss. I can just make him drive you." He winks and she pushes his shoulder.

"I highly doubt that is in his job description."

"Eh? I write the job description, don't I?"

"Okay, Robber Baron." But, she figures, what does she have to lose? Jon has now witnessed at least two of her more embarrassing moments in recent memory, and she willingly showed him the third by shoving her phone in his face. It's not like she has anything but a track record of being a pathetic weirdo to uphold. "I'll ask him…but if he says no, you are absolutely banned from forcing him." She waves her finger in Benjen's face and his eyes crease with affection.

"If you insist. While you're at it, tell him to come over here and give me a hand with the table."

"Speaking of which," she asks as she heads out the door. "Did you finally get your website up and running?"

"Ugh, you know I don't like that stuff."

"By that stuff, do you mean essential technology that every person alive needs to interact with in order to be a fully functional human being?"

He waves her away, grumpily. "Yeah, that stuff."

"Uncle Ben! Your furniture is so beautiful. How is anyone supposed to buy it, if they don't even know it exists?"

"Did I not just tell you that I sold a dining set?"

"Oh yeah? And who is the buyer?"

"Howland Reed."

"Howland Reed…who you have known your whole life and who works for Stark Construction."

"Well fine. If you want me to have a website, then you set it up." Actually, she likes this idea.

"Will you pay me?"

"Secure a ride and procure my manual labor. We'll talk contract negotiations later."

She grins, backing out the door. "You really are the best, Uncle Ben!"

When she enters the office, Jon has a pair of cheap, over-the-ear headphones on, like the kind her dad insists on wearing when he runs, despite owning a nice wireless pair that Sansa and Robb bought him the previous winter solstice. She can hear the tinny sound of the Black Keys coming through and he's so focused on whatever he's doing at the computer that he doesn't seem to notice her at first. Sansa watches him, admitting that though he isn't her type at all, yes, Jon Snow is very attractive, with his pretty lips and long face and high cheekbones. He's got nice dark eyebrows framing big gray eyes. She even likes his long Patrick Verona hair, which is really something since she's constantly on Robb and Bran whenever their hair grows even the least bit shaggy.

When Jon glances up, she can feel the color come to her cheeks over being caught staring.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you come in. Everything okay?" He has a nice voice, too. Every time he talks, its husky and low, like he just woke up.

"Oh yeah. My uncle just needs a hand moving a table, if you have a minute."

"Definitely. Anything to get a reprieve from this torture." He stands up, stretching his arms above his head, which pulls his black hoodie up, revealing a lean stomach with just the barest hint of dark hair, and _really what is wrong with her?_ Sansa turns, practically diving for the floor to bury her face in Lady’s thick fur.

“And what are you doing here, traitor?” She whispers into her ear.

“Traitor?” Jon stands beside them now, looking down inquisitively.

“Well, Lady’s my dog. I mean, not technically, but Uncle Benjen let me pick her out and name her. I’m just feeling a little betrayed that she chose to be in here with you, instead of sticking by my side.” She shrugs up at Jon and he smirks.

“I don’t know what to tell you. It must be the ambiance. It is so very pleasant in here.” He helps her up to her feet again, and she finds herself grinning.

“It is rather sad, isn’t it? Maybe you just need a plant…or a paperweight, or something.”

“Maybe a motivational poster?” He winks at her again, and she feels giddy.

“Oh yes! Like the one with the kitten falling into the toilet. ‘Hang in there!’” She curls her hands in front of her face with a pout, and he laughs, transforming his face. She feels quite smug. He doesn’t look like a boy who laughs easily.

“Well, I suppose I should maybe make it through my first day before I start redecorating, huh?” Jon opens the door, letting her through first, and Sansa feels a flutter of nerves when she brushes by him. She sits along the fence, watching Benjen and Jon move the furniture into the truck, sucking on a strand of hair, which she knows is a filthy habit that her mom would definitely scold her for, but she still hasn’t asked Jon for a ride, and now she’s feeling nervous about it.

When the truck is loaded, he walks right over to her. “How are you getting back? The bike is no good.” He pulls himself up beside her with ease, and she can feel his eyes as she stares staunchly out at the truck pulling away.

“Well-”

“I can give you a ride, if you want.”

She shrugs, feigning indifference. “Sure. When are you done here?”

“I don’t know. Benjen didn’t really give me much instruction, so I suppose, whenever you need to get back.”

She glances down at her phone. “Well, swim practice doesn’t end until six, though if you need to be home earlier or something, you can drop me off at Casterly Rock, whenever. My family eats dinner kind of late, but your parents probably want you back, right?”

“Um,” he looks kind of uncomfortable. “It’s just my mom, and…six is fine.” He jumps down now, rubbing his neck. “I’m going to get back to work then. I’d like to graduate from the Benjen Stark school of bookkeeping sooner rather than later.”

“Understood.” She smiles, but his mood has shifted, and he just turns back to the office with an awkward shrug. Deciding to leave the poor boy in peace, she heads back to the shop, curling up on the sofa with the dogs to tackle her homework. Sometime later, when she’s losing her mind over Precalc, Jon finds her.

“It’s quarter to. You ready to go?” His hood is up, and he looks beat. She hopes he hasn’t stayed this long just for her.

“Yeah.” She hastily shoves her stuff back in her bag, and huffs in surprise when Jon takes it from her, slinging it over his shoulder. “I can hold my own backpack.”

He ignores her, leading the way out of the workshop. “Do we need to do anything special with the dogs?

“No. Benjen’s cabin is on the property. We can just leave them in the shop, and he’ll let them out when he gets home.”

Jon’s car is a strange wedge-shaped, two-door sedan that looks like it belongs in an eighties movie. He opens her door for her, before throwing their bags in the trunk. She’s struggling with the seatbelt, when he slides into the driver’s seat. “Here, let me help. She really fights every safety measure.” The hairs along her arms rise as he leans across her. Her mind flashes to the moment earlier, when he had picked her up like she weighed nothing and then just stood there, his jeans rubbing against her bare thighs, his hands around her waist, his grey eyes-_Get a grip, Stark!_

He snaps her buckle into place, and as he reaches for his own, his phone rings. Sansa stares out the window, hiding her burning face.

“Hey.”

“I wasn’t ghosting you…I was ghosting everyone. I had some shit to sort out before work.” She can feel him glance in her direction. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Yeah.”

“I promise. I’m just finishing up now.”

“No babe, your place. Please.”

“K, be over soon. Save me an eggroll.”

When he hangs up, he shoots Sansa an awkward look as he waves his phone. “Sorry. Girlfriend.”

She smiles. “No problem. Wish I was eating Chinese food tonight.” She cringes. Of course, she heard his conversation, because this car is tiny, but she didn’t need to comment on it. She doesn’t even particularly like Chinese food. They drive the few minutes to Casterly Rock in silence, and Sansa stares out the window, pondering the exchange. She and Harry never called each other. They just texted and they certainly didn’t make weekday dinner plans together. The call had been brief, but it had also seemed so adult, and the for the first time all day Sansa gets the sense that there really is a world of experience between her and the quiet guy beside her.

“You can just drop me off by the arches.” When he pulls over, she gives him a weak smile. “Thanks for the ride…and err…the other stuff too.”

“No problem, Sansa. It was my pleasure.” She blushes again, and before he notices, she makes to jump from the car.

“Well, see you around Jon Snow.” She’s rushing into the safety of the quad when she hears Jon’s voice behind her. She turns around, and he’s got the window down and he’s craning across the passenger seat.

“Your bag is still in the trunk!”

“Oh! Right.” Gods, he must think she’s a real idiot. Her face is properly flaming now, and he’s watching her, clearly amused.

When she’s got her bag, and is once more trying to make an exit, he winks at her, _again_. “See you around Sansa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go long periods without working on this story, and then when I do again, I just can't stop. 
> 
> Loved all the comments on the last chapter...still catching up on responses. Probably will have to clean this chapter up a bit after posting, but I wanted to get it up. Hope you enjoyed this one as well. I think this story is just going to go on forever because I have so much fun writing all the snippets of Jon and Sansa's days. It's going to be sixty chapters before they get through first month of school...sorry, but not sorry at all. 
> 
> Also, Sansa is THIRSTY for Jon already. Again...not sorry. 
> 
> Also, Jon is a teenage boy, who is not going to be smart and break up with Ygritte as fast as I know everyone (including me) wants him to...so some warning there.


	14. Sansa

As soon as she's released from the dinner table that night, Sansa escapes to the sanctuary of her own room. Spinning around in her desk chair as she dials up Marge, she catches sight of plastic hanging from the hook on the back of her door. Margaery's jumpsuit and a leather jacket that Sansa has a vague recollection of, are both hanging from her door in dry cleaning bags. She has to hand it to her mom. Even when she's furious, she takes care of everything.

"Hey! Why didn't you tell me you lost your phone?"

"Well I wasn't trying to call attention to how drunk I got on Saturday. Everyone was so focused on the pavlova business; I didn't really want to add fuel to the fire."

"Well, I thought you were ignoring me, and I guess I got a little carried away today. What were you and Joff talking about anyway?" When Sansa had finally gotten into her phone earlier, she found about twenty-five text messages from Margaery checking in on Saturday and Sunday and today, with a clear trajectory from concerned to accusatory. She had immediately texted an explanation for the silence but figured it wouldn't hurt to do a little more damage control now. Her friendship with Margaery requires more watering and care than her others, a point not lost on Jeyne who every once and while snipes about it, reminding Sansa that its a good thing she has a low-maintenance friend like her since she has to spend so much time avoiding Margaery’s thorns.

"Just more pavlova nonsense. Harry was watching, so…if it looked like something more, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'm losing interest anyway…I can't believe you are grounded indefinitely. That isn't fair. You drank responsibly." The Tyrell family was considerably more lenient than the Starks, letting Marge and Loras live as they want and stepping in only to shield them from consequences. The one time Marge had come close to serious trouble, a cheating scandal freshman year, her dad had swooped in and threatened the school with lawyers. Margaery had hosted a girls’ ski weekend at their family chalet in the middle of it.

"Tell that to Ned and Catelyn Stark." Sansa grumbles.

"Well, the pavlova joke will be over by tomorrow, I promise. Harry is the one who should be embarrassed. Getting with Mya Stone…I heard she blew the whole boys' soccer team after an away game last spring. She probably gave Harry herpes or something."

"Whatever. We were broken up. He can hook up with whoever he wants." Sansa is ready to put the whole Harry business behind her. After the wreckage of the past weekend, she'd be happy if everyone else did too. "I just can't believe I'm stuck being his partner in Anatomy for the rest of the year. How am I supposed to survive that?" The thought of listening to Harry's stupid cat puns over the smell of formaldehyde makes Sansa want to crawl under her covers and die. He had also left her messages, but she deleted them without reading.

"Why don't you just drop the class. You don't even like life sciences. And it's not like you need the credit, do you?"

"I can't drop a class three weeks into the semester." Every fiber of Sansa's being rebels at the thought of quitting something before it is finished.

"Sure, you can. I did it with Civics last year and it was almost midterms. You're an honors student. Just talk to your counselor. Plus, if you drop A&P, you can switch to sixth period history with me and wouldn’t that be lovely?" If Sansa switched to sixth period history with Marge, her seventh and last period of the day would be open. Extra incentive.

"Well, yes…that sounds loads better than trying not to vomit during cat dissection."

"Then its settled. If you even think about sitting with us at lunch tomorrow before talking to your counselor, I'm going to out you as the Casterly Rock bra bandit!"

"You wouldn't!" Sansa gasps. Sophomore year she'd been part of the homecoming committee with Marge, and they'd stayed late together after school to help finish up decorations. Bored and overcaffeinated, Sansa had succumbed to Marge's dare to remove her bra and wrap it around one of two lion statues buttressing the front steps. In the moment it had felt scandalous and exhilarating and when Margaery went along and put her own on the opposite lion, the act had felt like a sacred pact of friendship.

But of course, there were copy-cats. There was a period when hardly a week went by where the Casterly Rock Lions weren't covered by random pieces of teenage underwear. It had mostly come to an end when their exasperated principal threatened to cancel the winter formal if everyone didn't cut it out, but occasionally, a new jock strap or bralette could be found adorning their leonine guards. As far as Sansa knows, only Marge is aware that she started it all, and she would definitely like to keep it that way.

"I would, Stark."

"Ugh! Fine. I'll do it. Have any bright ideas to solve my Precalc problems?"

"I'm not a miracle worker."

\---

After consulting on Marge's upcoming party that she won't be able to attend, Sansa wanders back downstairs where Robb is eating his second dinner, mac and cheese straight from the pot, at the kitchen island. She grabs a fork and steals a bite.

"Hey, make your own food."

"I'm not hungry." Dodging an elbow, she snags another mouthful. "Why is Arya grounded, and why is she acting like it's my fault?" Her little sister had maintained a solid twenty-four hours of either stony silence or scathing insults towards Sansa and she still doesn't understand why.

Robb swallows, uncomfortably. "Well, she was kind of at the Flea the other night, and when you got sick and brought the wrath of the Stranger down, Mom and Dad found out."

"How? I thought we were already home."

Robb gives her a guilty look, and she slugs him in the shoulder. "So, you're the narc and I'm the one she hates. That's fair."

He shrugs. "Life ain't fair, Sis." As far as Sansa can tell, her older brother escaped the weekend without any repercussions beside a talking-to the previous night. While he's busy scraping the bottom of the pot, she swipes his phone, searching for a number. "What are you doing?"

"None of your business." She scrolls through his contacts, finding Jon Snow's number and committing it to memory. Then she holds the phone out of her brothers reach when he makes a grab for it. "Nah ah. Admit to Arya that you ratted her out to Mom and Dad."

"Fine." He turns, yelling over his shoulder. "Arya! Come here!" Their little sister wanders out of the den, shooting daggers at Sansa with her eyes.

"What? I'm about to clobber Bran in Splatoon."

"I'm the one that told Mom and Dad that you were at the Flea with us. Sorry." He shrugs and Arya shrugs back.

"It's fine. I was going to get in trouble sooner or later anyway." She grabs Robb's fork, snagging the last good bite.

"Well don't you have anything to say to me?" Sansa is incensed. Robb always gets forgiven immediately while she's treated like the wicked witch of the west.

"No." Arya is unbelievable. So much for sisterly solidarity.

"Fine. Just be a bitch to me for no reason. Because that makes total sense." The words are out of her mouth just as Catelyn emerges from the office, and Arya's eyes light up with glee while Sansa wants to melt into the floor.

"Sansa! Apologize to your sister right now. I can't believe you would call her something so vile. What is going on with you lately?" Her mom sounds more exhausted than angry.

"Ugh, nothing. She's just a brat all the time."

"And that gives you permission to call her names?"

"Fine. I'm sorry, Arya." The girls glare at each other, and Sansa feel like her hair is going to light on fire.

"Oh yes. Very sincere. Thank you, Sansa." With a heavy sigh, her mom ushers Arya out of the room. "Come on young lady. You still have to pick up the mess you and Bran made in the garage. Bran! Video games away!" Incomprehensible grumbling comes from the den, and as soon as they're gone, Sansa slams Robb's phone on the counter.

"Well, glad I sprung for a strong case," he grumbles, shoving the phone in his pocket.

"Why does she hate me so much?"

"I don't know. Do I look like her diary?" There must be something in Sansa's eye, because Robb groans. "Don't even think about it. If you think she hates you now, imagine how she'll react to you reading through her private thoughts."

"Gods, Robb. I wouldn't stoop that low. She probably doesn't keep a diary. It's probably just a hit list with my name on every line."

He laughs at this. "Well, you better watch out then. She's got a wicked arm. It sounds like she's going to make Varsity softball her freshman year."

"What?"

"Yeah, that's why she's going to Winter Town. Division I State champs last year and their coach approached Arya last season. How do you not know this?" She just gapes at him. "Did you even go to any of her games?" She racks her brain, coming up blank.

"Were their uniforms yellow?"

He scoffs. "Gods, that was like three seasons ago. No. They were grey and black." Right. Sansa is a witch.

"Well, I hardly ever make it to your swim meets and you don't hate me."

"Yeah, well I don't even want to be at my swim meets, so I can't blame you there." She frowns. Robb loves swimming. She doesn't understand where all this newfound negativity is coming from, and she doesn't know how to respond to it, either. So, she takes the coward's out.

"Well, sorry you hate the thing you're great at. I'm going up to finish my homework. Do you want me to iron your uniform?" He knocks into her shoulder with his head.

"Yes." She ruffles his hair before retreating up the stairs. "I think you're the tops, Sans."

"I know, Robb."

When she's back in her room she takes the leather jacket down and tries it on. It's a woman's and it's vintage and its way cooler than anything in Sansa's closet and she just knows that it's belongs to Jon's girlfriend. She spins around, reveling in the foot-long fringe hanging from the sleeves and back, trying to imagine ever feeling confident enough to wear something like it in public. Well, apparently, she did, since it ended up at her house. Too bad the moment coincided with her being peak calamity. Reluctantly, she removes it, carefully folding it into a pretty shopping bag from a local boutique. Then, before she can back down, she texts Jon.

_Sansa: Hey, this is Sansa. What days do you work at Winterfell?_

Before she puts her phone down, she sees the three dots indicating a response…and then it disappears. She glances at the clock. 9:30 p.m. Is he still with his girlfriend? She is probably coming across as some weird stalker girl at this point. She types a follow-up.

_Sansa: I have your gf's jacket_

As she's finishing, the dots return, and three messages come through in quick succession just as she hits send.

_Ponyboy: Why? You bringing me a potted plant?_

_Ponyboy: I'm there every weekday._

_Ponyboy: I don't like cactus, but anything else is fair game._

He doesn't send any more, and neither does she.

\---

Tuesday is, surprisingly, easy flying at school. As Margaery promised, the pavlova fiasco seems to have blown over and Sansa knows it is in large part to some behind-the-scenes efforts by the Tyrell twins. They're throwing a party the following weekend, and as they have deigned the pavlova meme as so twenty-four hours ago, anyone wanting to snag an invite must follow suit. Not for the first time, Sansa remembers that it pays to be popular.

Her meeting with her counselor is similarly breezy. Ms. Tarth doesn't question Sansa's request to drop Anatomy & Physiology or switch history periods. When Sansa mentions helping her uncle with his business website, she even promises to dig up the paperwork so Sansa can get independent study credit for the project. The only blight on her day is running into Harry in the hallway as she leaves the office.

"Sansa-"

"I dropped A&P." She crosses her arms and stares just past his shoulders.

"Oh."

"So, hopefully you can partner up with Wallace and Roland or something."

"Sansa, I'm really sorry-"

"For what?" She spares him a glance, secretly thrilled by how cool her voice is.

"For Saturday." He's looking at her with so much trepidation, that she feels a small thrill of power.

She shrugs, keeping her face expressionless. "Whatever, we had already broken up." An arm slides over her shoulder, and it's Marge.

"If you're looking for Mya, I think I saw her wandering into the locker room with the lacrosse team." Sansa winces at Margaery's casual cruelty, but she doesn't say anything, letting her friend turn her around and lead her out to the quad.

"I know he was your first, but you cannot get back together with Harry."

"I wasn't intending to." _Ye of so little faith._

"Good. I think we need to be done with high school boys. I was actually thinking that you might really like my brother, Willas."

"Isn't he about to graduate from college?" She side-eyes her friend.

"Yeah, he's majoring in economics and already has an internship lined up next summer at the Iron Bank."

"And I'm still a minor."

Margaery laughs, and Sansa feels like she is missing the joke. "Sansa, I'm talking long-term. Picture it. In ten years, when you're a hot-shot architect designing skyscrapers and he's running things in the Dragon Pit, you two can be the ultimate power couple, and we could be actual sisters. He's coming home for fall break. We can plant the seed then, so make sure you aren't grounded anymore." Never mind the fact that Sansa's architectural dreams fall somewhere well below the forty-story mark, she feels Margaery is missing a few key ingredients in this particular scheme.

"And what if we don't like each other?"

"How could you not? He shares DNA with Loras, who I _know_ you like and you're you…It's a no-brainer. Like I said, you can plant the seed over fall break." Margaery grins wickedly, and Sansa groans.

"Oh, come on, Sansa! For a girl who was knocking boots with Harry all summer, you really blush like a maid." What Sansa had thought would be a harmless lie, is really turning into chronic stitch in her side. Somehow, she imagines Willas Wunderkind Tyrell isn't going to be too impressed by Sansa's brand of awkward-girl seduction.

"Does he like Hermione Granger?"

"What? How should I know?" Margaery thinks for a moment, and Sansa sweats. "There are a lot of Tom Clancy novels in his bedroom."

Suddenly, she thinks that it might be okay if she is still grounded come fall break. "Well, I'll keep that in mind if I'm ever allowed back in society. What age-inappropriate man have you set your sights on?"

\---

Sansa stares up at the David Bowie poster in Robb's room. She thinks it's new, but she can't be certain. Usually they study in her bedroom because he's a slob and she isn't, but tonight she took pity on him.

"Dative Collective."

"_Loktyro_." She recites.

"Instrumental Plural."

"_Loktommi_. This would make a good costume." She points.

"What? Ziggy Stardust?" Robb rolls up from where he's been lying across his bed as they study for a High Valyrian test.

"Yes. I could do the makeup easily enough, and you already have red hair."

"That's true." She starts sketching the singer in the margin of her notebook and he leans over her shoulder where she's sitting on the floor beside his bed. "Are you trying to distract me from the mess I made at dinner?" David Bowie's bone structure really is something else, she muses. Hard lines and shadow. "I meant it, you know. I'd give up swimming and my scholarship."

"Then you really are an idiot." She glares up at him. When Robb brought up band practice at dinner that night, their mom had argued that it was yet another weeknight Sansa would be stuck waiting on Robb as he had swimming every other day. Like a kamikaze, her idiot brother had chosen that moment to suggest that he quit swimming.

"You have a full-ride scholarship to one of the best schools in the country, Robb. You'll be able to do whatever you want after the Eyrie. You'd seriously throw that away for a garage band?" It's hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice. The Citadel, her dream school, has one of the best architecture programs in the world and they don't offer any scholarships. The only way she'll be able to attend is if she gets funding from outside sources. Meanwhile, Robb has already clinched a full-ride to an equally prestigious university on a swimming scholarship.

"It's not that. Ugh!" He rubs his hair, groaning into his bedspread. "I don't know. I just want time to do other things, yeah? If I swim through college, it's going to be my whole life, just like it was in high school. Gods, Arya is fourteen and she's already racking up more life experiences than I've had." His phone vibrates, stopping Sansa from replying. When she sets aside her own jealousy, she admits to herself that she understands Robb's point. He's missed out on a lot of things due to swimming, from parties to extracurriculars, even family things like spending time at their Uncle Jon and Aunt Lysa's lake house.

"Hey, man."

"Yeah, we're still on for tomorrow, thanks to my sister." She looks up and Robb winks at her. Her pencil freezes, and she wonders if he is talking to Jon. She ended the extremely tense standoff at the dinner table by assuring her parents that she didn't mind hanging out at Winterfell during band practice, and even diverted further attention from Robb's idiotic suggestion by bringing up her plan to create Uncle Ben's website. So, disaster averted, and she even gets to drive, if only between school and Winterfell.

"Ha. Yeah…um, totally. I mean, someone's got to do it." Robb is flushing now, and again she wonders if his interest in Jon is more than musical. "Cool. See you tomorrow." When he hangs up, she pounces.

"Was that Manbun?"

"You should really stop calling him that. And no…it was Theon, the singer." The plot thickens.

"Ah! Jeyne likes him, you know."

Her brother's face perks up. "Really? About time she turns her attention to someone else. Hopefully, he likes her back." So Robb is not so oblivious, after all. 

"Well, brother. Don't celebrate prematurely. I don't think Jeyne's love for you will ever die."

"Ugh. It should."

"Why? Have you set your sights on someone else?"

His face is smashed into his bedspread again. "Maybe."

"Who?" She shifts to her knees in excitement. "Who? Who? Who?" She gets a muffled groan in response. "Gods! _Is it_ Jon Snow?" Does he just have sex god pheromones or something?

"No, he's definitely straight. I've seen him with his girlfriend." Something about his response has Sansa freeze. Where she can see it, Robb's face is flaming. She weighs her next words carefully.

"So…it _is_ a boy then. That you like." One blue eye peeks up at her, and Robb looks so scared that her heart breaks a little. She takes a deep breath, then yells "Arya! Bran! The Others are coming! Defend the Wall!" It's a silly game they haven't played in years, but within moments Arya is in the doorway and she can hear Bran's feet stomping down the stairs from his attic bedroom.

"Ah!" Arya and Bran pounce on Robb, jabbing under elbows and arms to tickle him and he flips them over, laughing. "No fair! You're too big now!"

"Exactly! It's finally a good match!" Arya cackles, putting him in a headlock as Bran goes for his legs. Sansa sits at the edge of the bed, laughing.

"Okay, okay. I think we've defeated the Night King at last. Very good. Castles and Knighthood to both of you."

Arya scoots back so she's leaning against the headboard, catching her breath. "Well, that was random. Why'd you call us, Sans?"

Robb flashes her an alarmed look, but Sansa just wraps her arm around her brother, resting her head on his shoulder. "No reason. I just thought our big brother could use some love." She can feel the tension melt from him, and he sags against her, ruffling her hair.

"Feel free to show it in a less violent way next time, guys."

"We'll take that under consideration." Bran quips. "But no promises. Winter is coming, after all." All attempts at studying fly out the window then, and the four hang out in Robb's room, listening to music and arguing over who has better taste. After being summarily dismissed from the running by the other three for the heinous crime of enjoying anything from the Top 40, Sansa listens to Arya and Robb debate whether having two songs from _Hamilton_ on his list of most listened to tracks, discounts him as well. Sansa glances at the clock.

"You're all snobs. I'm going to bed."

"We're snobs?" Arya snorts, and Sansa's temper flares. "That's rich coming from the girl who only hangs out with trust fund kids." Before she can respond, Robb steps in.

"That's not fair, Arya." His voice is gentle, and shockingly, Arya immediately looks ashamed.

"Oh right. Jeyne." She stands up, pulling Bran out of the room and Sansa follows them with her eyes. She startles when Robb's hand lands on her shoulder.

"Am I a snob?"

"I don't know. You like nice things." He swallows. "About earlier…" His voice is low. "I mean. I also like girls. This is probably nothing-"

She turns abruptly, wrapping him in a tight hug. "Oh, Robb. Whoever is lucky enough to be the object of your affection has to be pretty special, because you are the best. As long as they realize it, I don't care who it is." He squeezes her back. "And, I'm not going to out you, so you don't have to give me the deer-in-headlights look." He makes a strangled sound before letting her go.

"I mean, I think I admitted it to myself at the same time that you guessed it," he whispers. _Oh. _She really doesn't want to screw this up, so she sits back down on his bed, patting the mattress beside her.

"Give me your phone." He hands it over, reluctantly, and she quickly finds what she's looking for. When the song starts, they both lie back beside each other and she reaches for his hand.

_When the night falls on you_

_You don't know what to do_

_Nothin' you confess could make me love you less_

_I'll stand by you, I'll stand by you_

_Won't let nobody hurt you_

_I'll stand by you*_

When the song ends, Robb squeezes her hand with a sniff. "We were all wrong. You have the best taste, Sans." She blinks back tears.

"Well, I'm certainly the sappiest." She croaks, rolling over. Robb has tears in his eyes too, and she giggles. "Well, maybe we're tied for first, there." One quick thrust with his forearm, and she's rolling off the bed, landing in a heap on his pile of dirty laundry. 

"_Ugh!_ Robb!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ponyboy is a reference to The Outsiders. The High Valyrian is from the extremely detailed wikipedia page on the subject.
> 
> "I'll Stand by You" - Pretenders
> 
> 10 points to whoever can guess Robb's crush.


	15. Jon

Jon is shooting the shit with some of the guys from Stark Construction when he sees the now-familiar white SUV pull into Winterfell on Wednesday afternoon. Over the last two days he's cleaned up the accounting backlog and gotten approval from Benjen to use a system of his own devising to keep the books organized and up to date. When he explained the new documentation process and sorting that he wanted Benjen to follow, the man had laughed.

"Look kid. I'm not the only one you need to get up to speed. All the S.C. guys have been using the same half-assed methods as me, forever. They're used to just dropping their shit on the desk, knowing that once a quarter, I'll spend the weekend wading through the mess with a pot of coffee by my side and their phone numbers close at hand."

"Yeah, except if they just put paid invoices here, unpaid here, and expenses here," Jon pointed to the clearly labeled trays he'd set up, "then you won't ever have to waste a weekend that way again. I'll have the accounts balanced by end of day, Friday, every week."

"Well, I can't argue with that, but it's your system to enforce, Snow."

So, Jon has spent two afternoons being introduced to the crew members when they stopped by the lumber yard, walking them through the new expectations. His changes have been met with a bit of grumbling and good-natured ribbing, but he's taken the new nickname of 'Lord Snow' in stride.

As Robb turns off the ignition, most of the S.C. guys disperse while Rod Cassel, a leathery old man, slaps Jon on the back. "Uh oh, kid. Better get back to work. Boss's son is here."

"Yeah, well boss's son is here for band practice, with me." Jon smiles at the broad man sporting a Sam Elliot mustache. "And aren't you the one with a job site to get back to, Mr. Foreman?"

"Gods, so that's where the cocky attitude comes from. You have an in with Stark Jr., so you think your hot shit, eh?" Cassel's lined face creases in a friendly smile. "Keep working the system, and soon enough you'll be dating the boss's daughter." Jon's eyes track to the parking lot where Sansa emerges from the passenger side door, her copper hair shining in the sun as she bends down, immediately, to greet the dogs who have gathered around the car with wagging tails. The big shepherd, Greywind, tails Robb and Dacey Mormont as they make their way over to Jon and Cassel.

"Hey Mr. Cassel," Robb shakes the foreman's hand.

"Robb." The man nods. "How's swimming?"

"Not as fun as guitar," Robb lifts his case with a big smile on his face.

"Well, according to your dad it pays better than music ever will. Trust me, I know. My youngest, Beth, ran off to King's Landing to be a singer, and now she's an almost forty-year-old bartender. Congratulations on the scholarship, young man."

"Oh…yeah. Thanks." Robb shifts uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. "Hey Jon. You remember Dacey," he turns as Sansa approaches, "and Sansa…though I can't promise she remembers you."

"Shut up, Robb," Sansa cuffs her brother, amiably, in the shoulder. "Of course, I remember. Hi Jon. It’s nice to see you again." Her eyes meet his briefly, before shifting to Cassel. "Hi Mr. Cassel."

"Gods, be damned." the old man huffs. "Once upon a time, you two used to call me uncle. Now you're both taller than me and calling me Mr. like I'm someone proper. It's not right…" He grumbles, and the Starks wear matching rueful smiles. "Where's Underfoot? She'd show the proper level of disrespect."

"Probably out causing mischief." Robb answers, as the sounds of The Clash come hurtling up the drive. Jon recognizes the clatter of Grenn's muffler dragging across the gravel, and the old man groans.

"Well, that's my cue to get out of here. Don't burn the place down, kids." Cassel gives them a weary wave before climbing into his own F150. A moment later, Grenn, Theon, and Satin are jumping out of Grenn's pickup, still singing along. Theon is the loudest, as always, and he's wrapping his arms around everyone's shoulders, knocking Robb and Dacey's heads together and elbowing Jon. Jon didn't realize the others were coming. He should have. It makes sense. It's just that he's been so distracted by work and his mom leaving, that he didn't realize that the band Robb talked about putting together with him, also included Theon and Grenn. While merging his musical pursuits is more convenient for Jon, especially when Theon is already always on his case over his lack of commitment to Bastards & Broken Things, he feels a current of dissatisfaction over the scene unfolding before him.

"And who are you?" Theon asks stepping into Sansa's space, a glint in his eye.

"That's my sister, Sansa."

"Damn Robb. Why didn't you tell us how hot your sister is? I'm Theon. Is there an airport nearby or is my heart taking off?" Sansa gives the idiot a faint smile, before Satin nudges him out of the way.

"Ignore him. I'm Satin and this ogre is Grenn, and I love everything you've got going on." Satin waves his hand down Sansa's form with a flourish. "So classic." Satin is dressed in a tight-fitting black turtleneck, black skinny jeans and a wide-brimmed black hat. If it weren't for the bright pink makeup splashed across his eyes and cheekbones like some kind of EDM war paint, it would be a pretty muted look for him. Jon grins at the unbridled fascination on Sansa's face.

"Well, I love your look too," she gushes, and Satin winks. Jon feels himself release the breath he'd been holding. It's always a toss-up how others will react to his friend, and he really didn't want to have to write off Sansa Stark this early in the game. Luckily, her compliment seemed genuine, despite her rapidly flushing cheeks.

"Where's Gritte?" Jon asks.

"Dude, it's band practice. Why would we bring her?"

"Well, Theon, you brought Satin, and he's not in the band."

"I'm your manager." Satin pulls out a huge SLR camera, and snaps a picture of Jon, scowling back.

"Since when?"

"Since you decided to up your game and add some actual musicians." He winks at Robb, and the other Stark sibling turns the same rosy hue as his sister. Ygritte is going to be pissed about being left out, but when Jon makes the point, Theon just tells him to fuck off.

"If she came, we wouldn't get anything done. You two would be all over each other, and no one wants to see that." Jon walks away, shaking his head. If his girlfriend were here, it'd be the others joining her for cigarette breaks that would get in the way of practicing, but he keeps the sentiment to himself. Robb leads the rest of the group towards Benjen's workshop, while Jon grabs his guitar from Ruby. When he closes the trunk, he realizes that Sansa has stayed behind.

"Hey," she says, almost shyly, and he responds in kind. Today's she's wearing high-waisted chinos with her school shirt and blazer, and Jon finds them just as enticing as the skirt from the other day; the way they hug her long legs. " If you don't mind, I'm going to set up shop in the office. Uncle Ben doesn't have wi-fi and it’s the only place with internet."

"Yeah, no problem." It's not like the space is his…it's her family's fucking castle. He feels awkward in a way he's not used to, after his stupid text from the other night. He hopes she didn't realize he was flirting, but based on her nervous energy, missing the other day, he figures she did. By Robb's introduction, it also seems she didn't tell her brother that she already met Jon again, at Winterfell, and that makes him feel even worse. He gives her another awkward nod, before heading into the workshop where the others have set up in the lounge area. Dacey and Theon are already arguing over set lists and Robb is watching Satin intently, as the other compliments the space.

"This is perfect. The industrial look is going to look way more badass than Grenn’s basement and I can get some great pictures in here with all the afternoon light streaming in. It's going to set your hair off like fire." It's setting Robb's cheeks off as well, and Jon grins.

"Come on deadbeats, are we going to play or what?" He plugs in his shitty amp and all his two-bit worries melt away.

\---

Playing with Robb and Dacey is like going from black and white to technicolor. Their sound is so much richer. Grenn and Dacey are totally vibing on the drums and keyboard and despite Robb's protestations that he's a novice on the bass, he sounds great too. When they take a break from the song they've been working on, Jon looks up to find that Sansa has joined Satin on the couch. She's peering over his shoulder to look at the camera's LCD display while Satin updates her on all the potential band names the others have thrown out that he, as their self-appointed manager, has nixed.

Jon is having a hard time following the thread of Dacey and Robb's conversation about time signatures. They've both had actual music educations, and frankly, it's intimidating but also a bit thrilling because they've made more progress in an hour than the band has in months. Leave it to Theon to break the momentum to flirt with a girl. He has inserted himself between Sansa and Satin now, and Jon's fingers tighten around the neck of his guitar. When Sansa laughs at something Greyjoy says, Jon turns away, strumming a tune he's been messing around with. Theon is wasting his time flirting with a girl like her.

According to Arya, who had _a lot_ to say about her sister in metalworking class, Sansa Stark is basically perfect. Furious about being grounded for going to the Flea, Arya was hellbent on convincing her captive classmates what a stuck-up snob her older sister is. After filtering out the obvious younger sibling bias, a pretty clear image emerged for Jon. Sansa is a straight A student, on track to attend some elite university as soon as she graduates. Not only is she popular, but she hangs out with the wealthiest kids in Winter town; teenagers who have credit cards with limits more than the median household income; whose parents own lake houses, and ski chalets, and who spend their summers across the Narrow Sea for 'cultural enrichment'. Her last boyfriend was on the rowing team and will probably have a cancer center named after him one day, while whoever she dates next will likely be featured on lists like the Westerosi 30 under 30.

Gutter punks like Theon (and Jon) are so below her league, that it would take an extreme coincidence, like her and Jon's run-in the other night, for them to ever cross paths naturally. The only reason she's laughing at Theon's trashy come-ons now, is because the idea that she would take them seriously is so comical that he most likely barely even registers as a person of the opposite sex. He's a curiosity that her brother, Robb, picked up and she's too well-bred to be rude. Theon makes her laugh again, and Jon steps to the mic, finally singing the lyrics of the song he's been playing for the past few minutes.

_You're the beauty, the stranger in the grocery store_

_You're the highest quality hardwood door_

_You're the final wartime piece of bread_

_You once told me that you hate the shaven head_

_I want you so_

_And God must be the greatest comedian I know_

_To put you so far away_

_He put you so far away_

Grenn has joined in on the drums and everyone else stops talking to watch them. He burns under the attention, so he stares at the patterns in the rug.

_There are "Davids" and "Janets" everywhere_

_There are juveniles with the blondest hair_

_There are cronies with their jobs and ties and cash_

_There are people like me, the whitest trash*_

"A little moody, even for the Flea." Theon grabs the mic back. "Plus, I'm the singer. Your voice is so low, no one will be able to hear you."

"Did you write that?" Rob asks.

"No." Jon doesn't want to talk, so he plays the intro to "Rebel Rebel", effectively shutting everyone else up. When he looks up later, Sansa is gone and it's just as well. Dwelling on a girl like her, is an exercise in masochism. They play for another half hour, but Jon's earlier enthusiasm has flagged. The others don’t seem to notice. They are busy making plans for another practice session on Sunday, when Jon and Robb get off work, and bickering over band names. He heads out the door when Satin vetoes 'Frost Fangs'.

"Too metal."

\---

He's exhausted and ornery when he arrives home, and when he hears Janos in the living room with a girl, he scowls at his reflection in the windowpane. The chump moved in yesterday and Jon already hates it here. Dirty dishes and a couple empty beer cans are scattered around the kitchen, and when he peers into the fridge, the asshole has clearly eaten Jon's leftovers. Slamming the door, more forcefully than necessary, the talk in the other room quiets, before a feminine giggle bursts forth.

"Uh-oh. Dad's home." The girl snorts, and it's not just any girl's voice. It's Ygritte's. He turns the corner, and there she is, taking a hit from Janos's bong.

"What are you doing here?" He sounds as angry as he feels.

She blows smoke out. "Wow. You really know how to make a girl feel welcome, Snow." She stands up and she's wearing the shortest plaid skirt Jon has ever seen. "I guess I'll take the food I brought with me on my way out the door."

"See, Gritte." Janos butts in. "Your man is a surly asshole. Told you, you could do better."

Jon ignores the prick, throwing his arm out, in an attempt to stop her from walking past him. "Sorry. You just…surprised me. You didn't text or anything."

"Well, I didn’t want to interrupt band practice, now did I? Wouldn't want to be _that _girl. I'm no Yoko." She ducks under his arm, and from her tone, it's clear that she is annoyed about being excluded. The thought that she's been venting to Janos-fucking-Slynt about it really eats at him. "Do you like my outfit?" She pivots, flashing him a peek at her bare ass, as he follows her back into the kitchen. "I figured, since everyone is jumping on the prep school bandwagon, I might as well make a good faith effort to join in." She glances back at him with sly eyes, and his gut churns. Sometimes he wonders if his girlfriend has a bit of the clairvoyant in her. She cracks open a beer while he shovels fried rice noodles into his mouth.

"It's a weeknight, Gritte."

"So?" She sits across from him, and her eyes are bloodshot from the pot. "It's one beer, Jon. Chill." He can't though. He's wound so tight; his jaw might break. When he starts gathering all the dirty dishes to wash, Gritte grabs his wrist, stopping him. "Come on. These can wait."

_Says the girl who has a house cleaner_. "If I don't wash the dishes here, no one will."

"Do you want me to play maid?" She whispers into his ear. "Here I was, thinking the schoolgirl look would turn you on, but I'm sure I can find a feather duster somewhere." Her hand snakes around him, feeling through his jeans, and he can hear Janos laugh at something on the TV in the other room.

"My room." He'll wash the dishes in the morning. He follows his girlfriend to the bedroom, watching the hem of her ridiculous skirt flirt with the shadow where her thighs meet the globes of her ass. As far as distractions go, this one will serve.

\---

At lunch the next day, Theon won't shut up about Robb's hot sister, and if Satin hadn't promised to show the photos he took yesterday, Jon would leave the table now and get to metalworking early. They crowd around him, as Satin scrolls through the set.

"Did you take enough of Robb? Fuck man. If you're going to fixate on a red head, you picked the wrong Stark." Theon jeers. "Wait. Stop. There she is. Damn, she is fine." Sansa is standing beside her brother, beaming at something off screen, and Jon reaches across Satin to scroll to the next photo, but Greyjoy won't shut up now. "Pyp. Man. You should have been there. She is a fox. Fucking legs for days and these perky little tit-"

"She's Robb's sister, you dick." Jon cuts in.

"So?"

"So maybe stop objectifying a girl who's way out of your league."

"Why is she out of my league?"

Jon looks around the table for back up. Ygritte's eyeing him speculatively, and Satin is still staring at his laptop screen, ignoring them all. Grenn and Pyp are grinning like demons though.

"She's out of your league because she's rich," Grenn explains, as if he's talking to someone simple. "And you are poor as fuck, like the rest of us."

"Speak for yourself," Satin remarks. "Immigrant success story over here." His parents work in healthcare, and aside from Ygritte, Satin is the only one at the table who can boast of anything resembling a middle-class upbringing. Theon has been in the foster system for as long as he can remember, and Pyp and Grenn's childhoods weren't much different than Jon's; parents working too many hours for too little pay to take heed of what their sons got up to when they weren't around.

"Well, Ygritte's rich as fuck, and she's still dating your broke ass." Theon retorts. "Or are you trying to say you're better than me, Snow?"

Just as Jon says, "Ygritte doesn't count," she says, "He is."

"What?" They both turn to each other. "What do you mean I don't count?" Her hackles are rising, and he's clearly said the wrong thing. _Shit._

"I just meant that you're different than other girls. You don’t ascribe to the same…"He's floundering, and she knows it.

"classist bullshit?" Satin offers.

"Yeah. What he said." It's not enough for Ygritte, and that’s fair.

"So, your saying Sansa Stark is a snob?" Theon asks. "How the fuck would you know, Snow?"

"Yeah, how _would_ you know?" Ygritte asks.

He shrugs. "I don't." He's not entirely sure how him calling out Theon for being a misogynist dipshit turned into an interrogation of _him_, but he knows he's ready for this conversation to end. Unfortunately, Theon has different plans.

"Well, I know who does," he says, standing up and waving at someone across the cafeteria. "Jeyne! Over here!" Jeyne Poole, a quiet, unassuming girl from the grade below, freezes in her tracks as she walks by, and Jon feels a prickling of shame at the fear in the girl's eyes. It's not like they are the most approachable clique at Winter Town, and for all Ygritte's self-proclaimed feminist cred, she has a bit of a track record for eating other girls alive. "Yes, you. Come over here." Theon leaps up, practically dragging the poor girl forward, whispering something in her ear that earns him a shy smile and Jon's knee starts bobbing beneath the table.

"So, Jeyne…"

"Yes, Theon?"

"I met your friend, Sansa, yesterday."

"Oh!" The girl perks up a bit at that. "How? I thought she was grounded."

"Band practice with her brother. She tagged along. Anyway, you're friends with her, yeah?" He slips his arm over her shoulder, bringing her close.

"Yes. She's my best friend."

Theon grins back at the table. "See. Sansa can't be a snob. Jeyne's dad is just a plumber."

"Actually, he's an electrician." The girl frowns up at Theon, who doesn't notice, as he continues gloating. 

"Jon, here, is trying to paint a picture of Sansa Stark that just isn't true."

"What would you know about Sansa?" The girl turns defensive eyes to Jon now, and this situation is really turning from bad to worse.

"_Exactly_ my point-" Theon starts, and Jon could punch him.

"Oh my gods, lunch is almost over. Cut to the fucking chase," Ygritte interrupts. "We want to know, is Sansa Stark a stuck-up bitch? Or does Theon stand a chance with her?" Jeyne's big brown eyes widen further and once it's clear she has no ready response, Jon stands up.

"She could be as humble as the faith militant and Theon still wouldn't stand a chance, by virtue of him being a witless prick who shouldn't date _anyone_." He turns to Jeyne, who seems frozen. "You're in my comm arts class, yeah?" She turns to him, and once more he feels a pang of guilt. "I missed class on Monday. Can I look at your notes?"

"Oh…um, sure. They're in my locker."

"Great," he steers her away from the table by the elbow, dodging the empty soda can Theon lobs his way, in protest. "I'll walk you there before class." Once they are a few yards away, he drops his hand. "Sorry about them. They're assholes."

"Theon is only an asshole when he's around you guys." Jon almost stops in his tracks, but Jeyne continues forward, refusing to look at him. "Maybe, he'd be nicer if his best friend didn't call him a 'witless prick' in front of everybody." Jon has absolutely no response, so he tails the girl to her locker in dumb silence and continues brooding as she shuffles through her stuff. "Here, we're supposed to compare the way two different news stations cover a current event and write at least a five-hundred-word essay. Due next week." He already knew that, but he nods, taking the worksheet from her anyway. "And Sansa isn't a snob…even if some of her other friends are." Jeyne looks up at him now, glaring. "So, just leave her alone. She's had enough run-ins with assholes lately."

\-----

When he pulls up to Winterfell that afternoon, the weather matches his mood. Thick storm clouds roll overhead, and his shitty car almost gets stuck in a particularly deep, rain-filled divot along the gravel drive. He has no umbrella and no jacket, and he must battle his way through a maelstrom of wet, smelly dogs to get into the cramped office, and _of course_ the S.C. guys have not followed his system today. Not only is there a stack of papers strewn about the desk, but his trays have been moved to the back table and the space looks to have been rearranged to cram another chair behind the already cramped desk. He's about to storm off to Benjen's workshop and probably get himself fired, when he notices a plant; a tiny succulent in a ceramic cup with a_ smiley face_ on it, sitting next to the keyboard. When he steps closer, he also finds a large decorative paper bag with Val’s leather jacket folded inside, sitting in his chair, and a note.

_Hey, _

_I hope you don’t mind that I rearranged things in here a bit. I’m going to have to share this space with you while I help Uncle Ben launch a website for his furniture business. I would have told you, but I didn’t want to interrupt band practice. I promise I’ll be a good office mate. I’ve even brought a plant! And it’s not a cactus! And I bake! So, I’m prepared to ply you with all the chocolate chip cookies and lemon bars you could possibly want, to make up for invading your space. I will also start a campaign for wi-fi immediately. _

_-Sansa_

_P.S. Theon is wrong. I heard you just fine. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "The Greatest Comedian" - Matt Maltese
> 
> Hello all!  
I really didn't mean for such a long delay between chapters. I think it's just been a little harder to focus on writing with everything going on lately...and I find myself as moody as Jon whenever I write from his moody teenage POV (though, I do adore his moody teenage POV so much. He might be my favorite character to write). 
> 
> I have the major plot lines of this story nailed down and even if I'm a little slower to update lately, I fully intend to finish. I have a few days off work coming up, so hopefully I'll make better progress then. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I really hope you are all well!
> 
> Also, shout-out and all the points to Quasi101 for guessing Robb's crush!


	16. Sansa

She's not sure why she's so nervous as she pulls into Winterfell. She turned in her paperwork to get credit for the website project to Ms. Tarth this afternoon, she has permission to use the car, and she left Jon a note letting him know that she'd be here. Still, things felt awkward yesterday and maybe she should just wait until the wi-fi comes in and she can work in another part of the property. Or maybe Jon will be working somewhere besides the office, and her worries about invading his space will be moot. Lightning flashes in the sky above the castle, and the clap of thunder follows closely behind. It's doubtful anyone will be traipsing around the lumberyard today.

Jon's strange car is parked in front of the office, and the fluorescent light casts an eerie glow out of the rain-spattered window and Sansa realizes just how dark the sky has gotten. When she ducks inside, the small dour space is empty. The sound of the rain is loud on the corrugated roof and a dripping black sweatshirt is draped over the chair by the computer with a small puddle on the floor beneath. A spot has been cleared on the desk for her and someone even pulled the ethernet cable up, so she doesn't have to dig for it under the table. She interviewed her uncle yesterday while the band practiced, and she has a pretty good idea of where to start. Now she just needs to get to it. So, she slips out of her rain jacket, hanging it beside her umbrella by the door, and sets up her workspace. Just as she's putting in her ear buds, in the hopes of blocking out the almost deafening rain, the door opens and there is Jon, soaking wet, with a half-eaten apple lodged in his mouth and a scrap piece of plywood held above his head in a failed attempt to stay dry. He looks ridiculous and she can't help but laugh at him. The situation is made even funnier by the fact that he can't respond beyond a muffled harrumph when the dogs barrel in behind him, knocking the plywood askew, sending more rain down atop his bedraggled head.

Sansa rises to her feet, attempting to shoo the wet, muddy animals back out the door and is rewarded for her efforts with a splatter of muck to her front, when Summer decides to stop and shake himself on the way out. "Get out, you fiends!" She laughs, before turning to Jon, who for a moment just stares at her, chewing. Then, abruptly, he bends forward and shakes his wet hair in her face, "Not you too!" she giggles. When he stands straight, he's grinning at her.

"You going to send me back out in the rain, as well?"

"I should, with that attitude." Instead, she signals for him to wait, and she shrugs back into her rain jacket and out to her car. When she returns a moment later, Jon is still standing, dripping onto the cheap laminate. "Here is an extra sweatshirt of Robb's that you can wear. He won't care." She pulls it out of the gym bag and tosses it to him, pulling out a towel to dab at her sweater. When she looks up, Jon is pulling his wet t-shirt over his head and she has an unimpeded view of his abs and that barely-there trail of dark hair leading…somewhere. She turns to the desk, digging in her backpack for…something.

"What are you looking for?" She didn't hear his approach above the racket on the roof, and when she glances up, Jon is looking at her in amusement, Robb's Casterly Rock Lion's sweatshirt safely covering him.

"Um, a pen?" She can feel her cheeks glowing.

"You don't have a pen?" He looks skeptical.

"No. I guess not." She lies, zipping her backpack closed before his prying eyes can peer inside. He shrugs, sliding against her to reach his seat.

"I've got one in my bag. He nudges a faded, cheap-looking backpack towards her with the toe of his chucks. She nudges it back at him.

"Oh no. I have brothers. I know what goes on inside boys' backpacks." She wrinkles her nose at him, in emphasis, but he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, with a shrug.

"Enlighten me. What does go on in a boy's backpack?" It's almost suggestive.

"Moldy food, unpaid parking tickets, smelly clothes…"

"Well, then. I hope you don't really need a pen." Just as he says it, her eyes light on the jar sitting next to the monitor, hosting a surplus of black bics. They both dive for it at the same time, but his arms are longer, and he holds them just out of reach.

"You _want_ me to look in your backpack!" She accuses. "You weirdo."

"Weirdo? I'm just defending my honor."

"How so?"

"Well, I don't want to get lumped in the same category as your gross brothers…"

"What category do you want to be in then?"

A strange look passes over his face. "I don't know…anything above the '_rotten food in the bottom of bookbags_' level?"

"You're being ridiculous."

"So are you."

"How so?"

"Like I'm going to believe that you; a girl who waltzed in here with a raincoat that matches her umbrella, an extra sweatshirt, a towel, a plant, and a laptop with a sticker that says '_Don't wish for it, work for it', _doesn't have a pen. In fact," he swivels around, displaying the note she had written him yesterday, "I'd wager that at the minimum, you have a blue felt-tip in the front pocket of your backpack, right in the spot where pens are designed to go." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands steepled beneath his chin. "Which begs the question. Sansa, why do you want to get into my backpack so bad?" He's struggling to keep a straight face and she fights the urge to wipe the smug look from his lips. She knows she's probably gaping at him like a fish out of water, but she doesn't know how this conversation even started. She doesn't need a pen, not only because he's one hundred percent correct in that she does indeed have a whole set of them in her backpack, but also because the work she was intending to do, before Jon Snow decided to get half-naked in front of her and completely break her normally very high-functioning brain, lives entirely in her laptop.

Just as she opens her mouth to squeak out some type of denial, lightning flashes and the thunderclap that follows is so loud that she physically jumps in her seat as the fluorescent bulb above them, blinks out. For a moment, she can make out nothing but the clatter of the rain overhead, but then she feels Jon's chair creak, and he's laughing, quiet at first but then it builds and he's practically gasping for breath he's laughing so hard.

"Your face…you looked like…ahh"

"Oh gods, it wasn't that funny!" She swats at his shadowed form, but he raises his arms up, trying to block her increasingly enthusiastic assault.

"It was. It was. You looked so adorably indignant…and then you looked so scared."

"I did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!" She can hear herself shrieking as her mind wonders what ‘adorably indignant’ looks like, and furthermore, why didn’t she look adorably scared as well? Does she have an ugly scared face?

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry," he has her wrists now, caught loosely in his larger hands, and he gently pushes her back into her seat, still laughing. "I take it back. You looked perfectly composed." But she's laughing now too, mostly at her own strange, pathetic trail of thought, and for a few moments they just sit, catching their breath. The thunderstorm has made it so dark that Jon is just a silhouette beside her, illuminated briefly every few moments when lightning flashes again outside.

"Gods. I was having such a shit day before you showed up." he says at last.

"Really? What happened?"

"You mean, besides getting caught in a monsoon?" He sighs. "Nothing special. Just the usual, garden variety, everyday bullshit."

"Hmm…you seemed in a mood yesterday, too." As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she wants to reach for them and pull them back. She's being presumptuous. What would she know of Jon Snow's moods? Fortunately, he chuckles, and she's strangely thankful that they are sitting in the dark.

"I suppose I was."

"Over what?"

"Again. Just the usual…" He doesn't elaborate.

"Well, you're certainly an open book." She rolls her eyes…again thankful for the dark.

He sighs again. "I don't know…it's _my _bullshit, I think. Like, I'm pretty sure I pissed off your friend, Jeyne, today."

"What? What did you do?" Her voice comes out a little pitchy and she cringes. Arya loves to point out every time Sansa uses vocal fry.

"Um…"

  
"Like seriously, how? Jeyne is the most laid-back person I know." She remembers Jeyne’s assessment of Jon and his friends though…and it was a little less than flattering.

"I might have called Theon a wit-" his voice dips too low to catch under the latest thunderclap, "-and she may think that _I think_ that you're a snob." The last comes out apologetically, and she reaches out and swats him again.

"I'm not a snob!" _Gods, was he talking to Arya?_ She wonders how and why Jon and Jeyne were even discussing her.

"I know! I know! It was a misunderstanding." His voice is suddenly very near and his tone, teasing. "How could a girl who once called Rod Cassel, 'Uncle', be a snob? I've heard some of his stories. He's not exactly high society. Plus, your actual uncle looks like he just walked off the set of _This is Spinal Tap_ and you like Heart. Definitely not a snob band." His knee knocks against hers and, without thinking, she knocks back. But then her brain catches up to her body, and she stills.

"Well, if we're going by musical taste, then I couldn't possibly be a snob.” She replies, dryly. “According to my siblings, I listen to too much Top 40 for that."

"See…you're just a basic b-"

"Don't even finish that sentence." She warns, laughing again.

"You're right. That was an overcorrect. " His voice is so close now. "You're anything but-"

The door flies open and a spotlight shines on them, revealing that Jon is indeed quite close to her now, but when Uncle Ben's flashlight roves over them once more, he rolls his chair back.

"Gods, point that thing down, old man. Are you trying to blind us?" Jon grumbles.

"Well, why are you two just sitting here in the dark? Don't those stupid smart phones have flashlights? Glad to see your survival instincts are intact."

"Well, what should we have been doing? We're just waiting for the storm to pass."

"Yes, and this tin can of an office is such a great place to weather it. Come on, I've got a back-up generator in the cabin. You can hang out there until this lets up." For the first time, Sansa realizes that were she alone in here, she would actually be pretty freaked out by the storm.

"Thanks Uncle Benji." She packs up her bag quickly, but as she's slipping on her rain jacket, she notices Jon staring forlornly out at the downpour. "Here, give me your backpack.” It's clearly not waterproof. “I'll hold it under my jacket, and then you can carry mine. It's water resistant."

When he hands it over, he whispers, "Careful. It might bite."

"You be careful, or I might not let you use my umbrella."

"I don't need-"

"Yes, you do. I don't have _another_ extra sweatshirt to lend you. Even I'm not that prepared."

So, they venture outside, following Benjen, in his bright yellow rain poncho, behind the outbuildings and down a well-worn path into the woods. Jon hovers close behind Sansa, attempting to share the umbrella, but she tuts at him that she is perfectly fine in her own rain jacket, and then laughs at him cursing in surprise, when Lady jumps out from the shadows and joins them.

"Uncle Ben, where are the other dogs?"

"They're safe in the workshop. Lady is the only one well-behaved enough not to jump on the furniture when she's wet."

Sansa loves Uncle Ben's cabin. It has a broad covered porch, where they pull off their rain boots (pitifully soaked canvas shoes in Jon's case) and shed their jackets. Inside, Benjen moves around the rustic, but cozy, open living space, turning on warm-glowing lamps that highlight the beautiful woodwork, before crouching in front of his massive fireplace. Jon just stands awkwardly in the doorway until Sansa grabs his hand and drags him inside.

"You’ll let the bugs in. Why don't you find a record to play? They're in the bookshelf over there. I'm going to dry off Lady." She exchanges bags with him, and heads down the hall, skipping the guest bathroom in favor of the large master off her uncle's bedroom, Lady padding after her. Just as she’s closing the door, Benjen calls out, "don't snoop, Sansa!"

"Sorry! Can't hear you."

Twenty minutes later, Lady is clean, dry and brushed and Sansa is greeted back into the living room by Bob Dylan's gravelly voice singing about someone making him lonesome when they go1. There is a fire crackling merrily in the hearth and Jon is curled up in the old leather recliner, reading a book.

"I thought I told you not to snoop." Benjen appears from behind the refrigerator door, a beer in hand.

"Well, this was basically screaming for me to wear it, and Lady got my school uniform wet. Have to admit, Uncle, I didn't know floral silk was your style." Sansa may have needed to snoop _a little_ to find the lovely duster that she's now rocking over one of Benji's old band t-shirts. It may or may not have been buried at the back of her uncle's closet. Hard to say, really.

"It's an ex's."

"Can I have it?"

"No."

"Oh? Is she coming back for it?"

"You never know." Benjen shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.

She smiles. "True enough. Have you offered our guest a refreshment?" Jon looks up at the question and Benjen grunts.

"He's got legs and hands."

She huffs, "so that's a 'no'. What do you want Jon?"

"What do you have?"

"I have no idea. Want to snoop with me?" She grins, mischievously, at her uncle who just grumbles under his breath before stalking away down the hall. Jon joins her in the kitchen, and they make their way through the cabinets and shelves of Benjen's small, utilitarian cooking space.

"So, it looks like our options are Schlitz beer, rye whiskey, coffee, and…one packet of hot chocolate."

"Don’t forget water." Jon offers.

"As if. Benji has well water. It smells like egg salad."

"Okay _Cher_, what are we making the hot chocolate with, then?"

"Hmm…that is an excellent question."

"You two are useless." Uncle Benji is back, and he tosses a new box of Swiss Miss at Sansa before dumping a pile of rubbery rain gear on the island. "My water is perfectly potable. I'll have you know that I just had the well serviced recently. You can _barely _smell the sulfur."

"Well, as everyone knows, Sansa is a snob." Jon winks as she glares back at him.

Benjen nods in agreement. "A truth universally acknowledged."

"You two are a bad combination," she murmurs, starting the kettle while Jon empties the packets into coffee mugs.

"What's all that for?" he asks Benjen, nodding at the rain gear.

"For my half-drowned employee to dig through and find some proper rain apparel."

Jon is shaking his head, backing away. "No…no."

"Yes. Yes." Benjen's voice is stern. "You think this is the last time you're going to get caught in the rain here? Your converse might be cool when your smashing heads with other idiots at a concert, but you'll be doing more than office work soon enough, and I can't have you getting worker's comp because you caught pneumonia on the job. You need gear that can handle the wear and tear of a lumberyard."

"I can buy it myself."

"Why? I have all this crap just lying around. I'm too disorganized to go through my stuff and get rid of the things I don't need. Seriously, you'll be doing me a favor." Jon's mouth is set so hard that Sansa can see a vein throbbing in his jaw.

"So, does that mean I can keep the duster?" She asks again, trying to lighten the mood. Benjen turns to her, scowling.

"Fine. If you can get this pig-headed fool to take home a pair of boots and a raincoat." The kettle starts whistling and she pours the water into the mugs. Benjen lies down on the couch in front of the fire, but Jon is still staring at the pile on the table. Tentatively, Sansa starts sorting through it.

"I mean, you have to admit…these waders are pretty punk rock," she tries, and Jon's mouth twitches. "And the gray notes in this jacket will really bring out your eyes. If you're lucky, you might even be able to find an umbrella to match it one day." His face is losing its stoniness and she smiles. "But I'll leave you to it. I've got a math test to study for." She grabs her mug, and when she sashays by him, she's pretty sure his lips turn up at the corners.

The next hour passes pleasantly enough, despite Sansa's growing hate for precalculus. After poking through the gear in the kitchen, Jon dropped a bundle by the door before returning to his book, by the fire. Whenever the record is ready to be flipped or exchanged, Benjen points at either Sansa or Jon, claiming an inability to disturb Lady, who has curled up on his legs, while he flips through _Fine Homebuilding_. He then gives a non-committal grunt over whatever album they pick out. After Sansa chooses _Wish It Would Rain_, Benjen groans.

"Ugh. No."

"This is all _your_ music! If you have so many opinions about it, why don't you get up and choose something yourself." When he does, she flounces to the couch, taking his spot, arms crossed. "And what's wrong with the Temptations?"

"Nothing. They're great. But this is the ex's album, and I don't want to listen to it."

Sansa and Jon share a look. "Ah the ex. Does she have a name?"

"Not one that I'm giving you." Benjen stops the record, and then hums in front of his bookcase for a few moments, refusing to expand on that thought. Sansa glares at his backside until Jon reaches over and wipes at her cheek.

"You still have some dirt on your face, from when the dog splashed you." He murmurs and she sinks further into the couch, mortified. He looks on, clearly amused. "How is studying going?"

"Poorly. I'm rotten at it." A twangy folk singer laments about leaving her lover, and Sansa squints her eyes playfully at Jon, holding a pillow in front of her face to whisper, "this is what I get for reminding him of the ex."

Jon laughs, but responds to her earlier comment. "If you were rotten at math, you wouldn’t be taking precalculus as a junior. What is your test on?"

She’s not quite sure how Jon knows she’s taking precalculus, but she replies, "Polynomial division. What are you reading?" He smiles at her attempt to change the subject, tossing his book in her lap. She doesn't recognize it. "_Sometimes A Great Notion_? Is this for school?"

"What high school in Westeros would put a Ken Kesey novel on the curriculum?" Benjen joins her on the couch, throwing his feet up. "Are they handing out tabs of acid too, kid?"

Jon laughs, but Sansa doesn’t get the joke. "It's not for school. I picked it up at the library the other day. I read _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_ last spring, and when I saw this was about a logging family, I thought it might be nice context for the new job."

"And what situation needed _Cuckoo's_ context? Contemplating a lobotomy?" Benjen quips, but Jon's lips pull into a grim line, and Sansa can see his shoulders tense. She waits a beat, and when he doesn't respond, she puts a hand on her uncle's knee, rising to her feet, turning a bright smile to Jon.

"I heard you're good at math. Do you think you might be able to help me study? I was going to ask earlier, but I assumed you were doing homework." He lets her pull him to his feet, his face still inscrutable as he follows her to the table. Once she explains what she's struggling with, he turns her notebook so he can scratch out how he would approach the problem. He's left-handed, so she has to lean close to see what he's writing, and to catch his murmured instruction. His earlier warmth has been replaced with a flat tone, and she doesn't understand what turned his mood so fast. Still, he _is _helpful, and when her alarm sounds, letting her know Robb will need to be picked up soon, she feels much better about her upcoming test.

When she steps onto the porch, the storm has passed, and the air has turned to a jaundiced green haze as the sun manages to pierce through the clouds armor. She peers through the trees, imagining a wood sprite darting by or white stag emerging from the shadows. Her silly thoughts are chased away when Jon joins her.

“Thanks for helping me study.”

“I’m happy to. Any time.” His hands are shoved in his pockets as he stares out at the drizzle. 

“Really? You didn’t seem happy.” She’s not sure what idiocy caused her to prod him, but he glances down at her, chewing at his lip.

“That wasn’t about you. That was just my bullshit again. You’re great.” His lips twitch upward, and she feels a giddy lightness.

“Well come on, broody, let’s see those punk rock waders then.” She pulls on her own Hunter’s, hiding her smile beneath her hair as Jon grumbles about her epithet, sliding the less dramatic boots he did pick out over his feet.

“I thought girls liked brooding. I mean, Mr. Rochester? Heathcliff?”

She giggles, loving that he’s using the Bronte sisters for pointers on what women love. “Oh yes. Every girl dreams about falling in love with a man who is hiding his first wife in the attic. So romantic.” She pulls her hood up and shouts one last goodbye to her uncle, who is dozing on the couch, before shutting the front door.

“Fair enough. And Heathcliff?” Jon is once again carrying both of their bags.

“Well, one shouldn’t forget that he forces his sickly son into an unwanted marriage. But then there is also this,” she pauses, for dramatic effect. “‘Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you’!2” She is a bit shocked at the feeling that comes out when she recites the line, and when she hazards to look up at Jon, where he’s standing in a shaft of light in the path ahead, he looks a bit stunned.

“Yes, there is that.” He nods, letting her walk past him.

“If I had to choose, I’d have to go with an Austen leading man.” Sansa muses. “I mean, they have their own drama, of course, but there is always a happy ending.”

“Jane and Mr. Rochester have a happy ending.” Jon argues.

“If you count Thornfield Hall burning down and him going blind as a happy ending, then sure. That’s way better than Lizzie and Mr. Darcy ending up at Pemberley.” Jon laughs, and she turns to find him staring up at the walls of Winterfell. “What?”

“Did _you_ walk out of a nineteenth century novel?”

She’s not quite sure what he means, but she looks up at the walls as well. “If it’s nice out tomorrow, I’ll show you what’s left of the castle.”

“Promise?” He’s staring at her, expectant.

“Promise.” And she’s delighted by the smile she earns in response.

When they reach the parking lot, Jon throws her bag in her back seat, and then stops her from closing her door.

“Let me drive out first.”

“Why?”

“I’ve heard you drive like you’re in a rally race. If you’re stuck behind me, you can’t drive like a maniac.”

“Come on, Jon Snow! I thought we were friends!” Jon looks momentarily struck, and she feels stupid for using the ‘f’ word, but then he glances away and back to her, with a smirk.

“We are friends, Sansa.” She grins back at him, like a relieved fool. “And friends don’t let friends hydroplane into the ditch. I’m leaving first.” With that, he shuts her door and jumps into his own car before she can protest further. He drives to Casterly Rock impossibly slow, and she knows he’s doing it just to annoy her, but she’s not annoyed. She’s too busy thinking about Jon Snow, her new friend. Until the word was out of her mouth, she hadn’t really thought about it before, but unless she counts Loras or Robb…she’s never really been friends with a boy. And when one is her brother and the other is the gay boy she used to have a crush on, what does that say about her? She bites her lip, worrying. Arya has all kinds of male friends. And Robb’s best friends are Dacey and Meera, so Sansa wonders why it’s taken her sixteen years to make a friend of the opposite sex. She doesn’t worry about it for too long though, because she decides, if she was going to wait this long, at least its someone as quality as Jon Snow who is going to be her first.

When Robb slides into the car, he stares at her a moment, before asking, “what has you grinning like a loon?”

“Nothing. I just made a new friend. No biggie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go" - Bob Dylan  
2\. a quote from Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
> 
> I dropped all kinds of music, film, and literary references in this chapter, so I suppose I probably should note more of them, but I'm just too eager to post this chapter. It was so so so fun to write. Hopefully, it's actually fun to read as well, and not just wanking on my part. 
> 
> I hope everyone has a lovely weekend. I'd love to hear your thoughts on our two idiots in love (er, I mean friendship).


	17. Jon

The sun is shining, the air is warm, and James Brown's got the feelin'1 as Jon coasts down the open road to Winterfell. He's not sure if it's the weather, the weekend, or the fact that he's actually going to be able to pay his bills on time this month, but he's in something circling a cheery mood for once. Not even a teeth-snapping jolt over a particularly shocking pothole along the overgrown driveway sours his mood. But, before he can get out of his car, Benjen is striding out of the workshop motioning for the window to roll down.

"What?" he asks, once he's forced the crank to work.

"I don't need you on Fridays."

"What do you mean?" Jon told Mrs. Stark that he needed as many hours as possible, and he _knows_ there is work for him to do.

"Look kid, you can't work seven days a week. Especially not when you're in school too. Take an afternoon off."

"I don't want to take an afternoon off."

"Sure, you do." Benjen crosses his arms. "Go on. Clean yourself up and take your girl out. I don't need you on Fridays."

But its sunny and mild and Sansa promised to show him the castle. Jon can't remember when he's looked forward to anything half as much as he's been looking forward to wandering through the ruins with her.

"I'm already here. At least let me work off the cost of gas."

Benjen throws back his head and laughs, "Gods, you're a stubborn shit, aren't you? You probably drive your mother mad." _Something like that. _"Fine. Come into the shop with me. I've got a job that'll make you wish you listened for once in your life and got the hell out of here when you had the chance."

Benjen makes good on the threat. He puts Jon to the thankless task of stripping stain from a garish, heavily ornamented credenza. An hour later, he's lying on his side, on the bare shop floor in the dust, with Greywind panting, hot, against the back of his neck. He’s attacking a carved grape vine that wraps around the base off the sideboard with a toothbrush and mineral spirits and he's about ready to punch the next person who tells him they like the Rhoynish revival that’s so popular in the McMansions being built on the new side of town. He just _knows_ it's some rich asshole in Ygritte's neighborhood who asked for this monstrosity to be restored. They’re going to place it against some gaudy mural depicting a vineyard and talk about the wine tour they did in France last summer and say things like ‘_Did you know, it’s not Champagne unless it’s from the region…_’ Assholes. He’s about to chuck the toothbrush across the room when Sansa's voice breezes in like fresh air. 

"Hi Uncle Ben! I stayed up last night, mocking up logo and color palette options for you to look over."

"Hiya kiddo, show me what you got."

"Here, I even printed them out for you, since I know you don't like to mess with screens. I played around with a few different motifs based on our conversations, though I ended up drawing more crows than anything else."

"Crows?"

"Crows. Do you know where Jon is?"

"Why?"

"Because, I promised I'd show him around the castle today."

"Oh, _did _you?"

"Yes, I did."

Jon scrambles to his feet, just in time to see Benjen's brow crease and then smooth over once again. Jon recognizes that look.

"Oh, there you are," Sansa is all smiles for him from across the shop. No school uniform today. Instead, she's vibrant in a goldenrod yellow shirtdress, her hair partially woven into a fiery crown; the rest in waves down her back. Jon feels disgusting in his dusty, threadbare tee and oil stained work jeans. "Ready for the grand tour?"

"Uh, yeah, just let me clean up." He ducks back down before she can take in the ratty edges of his t-shirt or the sweat stains beneath his arms. Of course, his button-up is lying beneath Greywind, who is completely uninterested in moving for Jon. _Jerk. _Sweat stains and holes it is, then._ Who is he trying to impress? _

"Ahem," Benjen coughs, "Someone is still on the clock, missy, and I thought you were here to work on this so-called website you're always going on about."

"I want you to review the options I prepped first, without me looking over your shoulder. I don't want to influence your choice."

"Influence my choice? What is this? A test?"

"No, it's just that I know what_ I_ like, but this is your website. It should reflect what _you _want. I don't want to bulldoze you into picking something that doesn't feel right." Jon can't help glancing over at her while he works to clean up his workspace. Sansa looks so earnest as she talks to her uncle, and while her choice of wording is funny, to think a sixteen-year old schoolgirl could bully a hard-ass like Benjen into anything, it isn't hard to imagine that Sansa is quite good at getting her way in most things. "I've left space in the margins for your feedback, and if you don't like any of these logos, I have some backups sketched in my notebook," she continues, pulling out a small paper bag, which she places on the table beside a tabbed binder, that can only be hers. "Here is a doughnut to snack on while you look over my work."

"So, I've got to sit here and do homework, while you galivant through Winterfell with my one employee."

"That's the idea. Yes."

"You did say that you don't need me on Fridays," Jon adds, before slipping into the bathroom. Closing the door doesn't quite block Benjen's retort.

"You insisted on working anyways, you punk!"

He can’t make out what Sansa says to sway her uncle while he attempts to make himself presentable, but when he emerges, slightly less dusty, smelling like Gojo and sweat, she is twirling a key ring in one hand while Benjen mutters instructions. Jon's shirt is folded over her other arm. Even Greywind listens to her.

"You're not Arya or Bran, so I'll save you the full safety spiel. Stick to solid ground. If it seems like a bad idea, then it is. No climbing, no defacing, no attempts to break into the crypts. You know better, right?"

"Right." She hands Jon his shirt, still nodding at her uncle.

"If the dogs can't follow, then you shouldn't be there."

"Got it." She winks at Jon.

"Alright, Princess. Show our anarchist the castle, then. Better to get it out of your system now, I suppose, rather than letting the expectation build."

Benjen says the last looking at Jon…like he isn't just talking about the castle; like he is an unanswered question. He wants to offer his assurances; pull the old man aside and let him know that he's not an idiot. _He knows, okay?_ He's not good enough for Sansa. He knows. _Gods, he fucking knows._ Even if he's already half infatuated with her (who wouldn't be?), it's his own fucking problem, his own shitty luck; not hers. He's not going to try something stupid. He's not going to shoot his shot like they're in a badly scripted rom-com, where the misfit from the wrong side of the tracks pulls some stupid stunt and ends up with the mayor's daughter. That shit doesn't happen in real life. He knows that. His eyes are open. He'll stay in his lane. He'll be her friend as she put it, until she gets bored and moves on, and then he'll listen to a bunch of Elliot Smith songs and move on as well.

Until then, however, he'll gladly follow Sansa into the afternoon sun. Summer and Lady join them, brushing against her skirt before leading the way, tails high, towards the curtain wall of Winterfell. As they leave the lumber yard behind, the grass grows longer and wilder, furling over the torn-up road, hiding the bumps and hollows left behind by heavy machinery. Jon and Sansa walk close, shoulders knocking whenever one of them missteps. Each time, it's a whiff of clean sheets and blue skies and a breathy “Sorry!" that whispers beneath his collar, sliding down the base of his spine.

"So, your family is the real deal, then?" He fixates on her hand, trailing across the feathery Bishop's lace that kisses her fingertips.

"Something like that," she shrugs. "I mean, yes. The Stark name is as common as snow in the North, especially with the way others have dropped the 'Kar' or 'Hard' over the years and I'm sure there are dozens of Stark descendants scattered around Westeros, but according to some very old slips of paper tucked away in a safety deposit box somewhere, we are the closest living relatives to the last kings and queens in the North. It's wild isn't it?"

_It is wild_. Jon can't put a name to his own father, while Sansa can trace her family tree back a thousand years. He is about to get a private tour of the North's most famous castle from someone directly related to ancient royalty.

Sam will be so jealous.

A few saplings have jumped the reed-filled moat and now grow too close to the wall, along the berm. Sansa leaves his side to frown at them when they reach a very pedestrian farm gate, blocking the way through the narrow entrance. She fishes in her bag for the keys while Jon leans against the metal rungs, staring. The stone is so much thicker than he imagined, mossy and worn smooth with time. Beyond, shorter walls enclose a cluttered courtyard. A rusty bobcat is parked beside several large, weedy mounds of gravel and dirt, while pallets covered in tarp are stacked beside a slatted shed. A large trespassing sign dangles from the stonework overhead, by two rusty chains.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure this is the key," Sansa rouses him from the eerie pang of nostalgia and letdown that's hit him, as she struggles with the lock.

"Here, let me." He reaches under her arms, brushing against her side as he takes over, jiggling the key in the corroded lock until it gives. Then it's another moment of strain to move the gate against the mass of switchgrass that's grown up through the bars. It frees all at once, sending Sansa falling backwards, but Jon pulls her into his chest with a laugh.

"Sorry," she breathes against his neck. "As you can see, it's been awhile since anyone's been here." She slips out of his arms and through the opening before his hands are quite ready to let her go. "In fact, I think you're the first non-Stark to set foot within Winterfell's walls in ages.” She looks a bit wistful, before scrunching her nose at him. “And, I have just the thing to mark the occasion.” She’s digging in her bag again, pulling out another paper sack. “I know bread and salt are the traditional provisions, but I think these doughnuts that I made last night should serve just as well to invoke guest right."

"Thank the gods. I was worried that you were planning to push me out of a window in the broken tower or something," he quips, peering in. "Saved by the sanctity of sugar."

"While I do have a reputation for bloodlust, I also have a healthy respect for the laws of hospitality…Plus, I promised Uncle Ben that we wouldn't climb any stairs." She adds primly, and Jon grins back. "I wasn't sure whether you'd prefer glazed chocolate or powdered sugar though, so I brought both."

"Which do you prefer?"

"Powdered sugar, obviously."

He sticks the glazed chocolate in his mouth and hands the other to her with a wink. The doughnut is delicious but the pat of white that sticks to the end of Sansa's nose as she takes her own bite is just as enticing.

"Alright, Docent, tell me _everything _you know."

"Careful what you ask for," she says between bites, rubbing, delicately, at her face with the back of her hand. "I'm a bit obsessed and it's kind of a long history…even the abridged version."

He grabs her backpack, before she can pick it up again, slinging it over his shoulder. "I’m game. History is my favorite subject."

"Okay, well I'm going to skim over all the sieges and battles, at least. You'll have to talk to my brother, Bran, if that's your thing.”

Military history _is _his thing, but he quickly realizes that he could listen to Sansa enthuse about architecture all day, every day. They leave what she explains is the Hunter’s Gate behind, winding through a maze of heavy stonework. Winterfell is so much larger than he imagined. It’s not so much a castle, but a morass of moss-covered stone buildings that seem to pile on top of each other in ever increasing complexity, broken up by cloistered courtyards and small green spaces that allow sunlight to dapple in. 

Jon is lost within minutes, but Sansa floats through the grounds like a sunbeam, bringing the castle alive with her commentary. She explains how the flying buttresses running between the inner and outer walls were a gothic influence added in the sixteenth century, while a great drum tower to the north dates back to the tenth. Not only can she describe, in great detail, the greenhouses that once stood _just over there_, but she's familiar with the flora that filled them as well. She’s adorably nerdy when explaining how clever engineers pumped water from the hot springs beneath the castle and up through the walls, her hands running almost reverently along channels that once held the ancient piping. When she takes his hand and presses it against the stone floor to feel the geothermal heat, he burns.

She weaves in rumors about princesses stolen from tower windows and leans in, whispering conspiratorially, about the stores of ammunition hidden in the crypts during World War I and bootlegging operations run out of the Sept during prohibition, as if they’re still state secrets. Jon is mesmerized by her tale of fortunes that rose and fell and rose again, and a castle that jumped from one branch of the family tree to another, and then back again because of an aunt that proved barren or an uncle who died in a war. Her yellow dress flickers through dark narrow passages and her delighted laugh echoes across the bailey when the dogs flush out a flock of warblers, hiding in a bush, bright with berries.

"Up there was a bridge between the armory and the great keep, but it collapsed during a fire in the seventies." She points over his shoulder and he follows the flick of her wrist to the largest edifice where the Great Hall must stand.

"Wait, I think I read about that." He wrote a paper about Winterfell once, and before Sansa's thorough schooling, he had thought that he was passably knowledgeable on the topic. "It was still open to the public then, right?"

"Yes, it was," she glances away, suddenly solemn. "My grandfather hosted a gala in the Great Hall one night, a benefit for a new addition to the veteran's hospital." They walk up the shallow steps and there are signs of work, clearly abandoned. Scaffolding is being pulled from the walls by ivy and the plywood doors that were clearly meant to be temporary are gray with age. They crumble a bit in Jon's hand when he and Sansa pull one open. "A fire caught, and before anyone could put it out, the flames jumped into the rafters and tore across the roof. Three people died. The grounds have been officially closed ever since." Now Jon remembers. A Stark died that night; a woman, though he can't recall the name. It had to be someone in Sansa's family; maybe her grandmother or an aunt. She doesn’t say. He doesn’t ask.

Inside, it's all dark shadows, except where the roof has completely collapsed in the middle, letting in just enough light to hint at the enormity of the vaulted hall. Late afternoon sunlight filters in, feeding a few spindly trees that have taken root, reaching their skinny branches through the heavy, dusty air. Sansa's voice is hushed as she continues. "It was my uncle Brandon's dream to restore it, but my grandfather lost a lot of money in a bad investment soon after." They're standing so close that Jon can just make out the constellation of freckles that bridge her nose. "And then, Uncle Brandon died, about a year before Robb was born, in a motorcycle accident. No one has really done anything since.” She sighs, “There’s no time or money. "

Her eyes glisten, and Jon doesn’t know what to say, so he takes her hand instead.

“I’m sorry,” she pulls away to wipe at her cheek. “I’ve probably bored you stiff, talking my head off about cisterns and Ponzi schemes.”

“Not at all, Sansa. I’m really sorry about your uncle…and the money. Winterfell should be restored. It’s beautiful.” It is. She is.

Her face transforms again, and she’s smiling so sweetly at him, in the dark. “Thank you, Jon, for indulging me.”

He wants to thank her. Tell her that she’s the one indulging him. He wants to kiss her.

_Don’t do it._

_Play your part._

_Stay in your lane. _

He swallows it down. Just another bitter pill.

“Does your dad quiz you on Winterfell’s history around the dinner table every night? I can’t believe how much you know.” He hasn’t met Mr. Stark yet, but he pictures a grayer, older Benjen pointing a great sword at Arya, making her recite famous Stark bannermen or laughing at Robb struggling to remember which king ratified the first constitution. _Trick question. It was a queen. _

Sansa snorts. “Ah…no. My parents don’t talk about it much. I think it stresses them out. Everything I know about Winterfell is from pestering Uncle Ben and getting really close with my middle school librarian, Mrs. Walys. Like I said, I’m a bit obsessed.”

“Well, it’s contagious, because you’re making me a bit obsessed as well.” Her face lights up again, and perhaps he can do this. He can be her friend. So far, it’s a hell of a lot better than being _not_ her friend. This much he knows.

“You haven’t even seen the best part yet,” she leans close and he’s drowning in sunset sea eyes before she takes his hand, lacing their fingers together and pulls him back outside with a tug. “The godswood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've missed this story so much! 
> 
> Once again, this chapter was becoming a monster, so I split it in two. Another Jon POV will follow this one. 
> 
> So..I realize I've really made this verse confusing because it has a bunch of real-world references while also clearly taking place in Westeros...so this is just a confused AU where Westeros is another land mass on the existing earth and please don't squint at my historical references, timelines or dates....it's all a hot mess :) But hopefully, you still enjoy it!
> 
> Footnotes:  
1\. I Got The Feelin' - James Brown  
This song pretty well sums up where Jon is...our boy is a mess, and he's going to get messier before he puts things right. Be warned. 
> 
> "I got the feelin' baby  
Baby, sometimes I'm up, sometimes I'm down  
My heart, I'm around the town  
I'm level with the ground  
Baby, I said level with the ground  
Well baby, you treat me, you treat me bad  
No, no, I know no  
No you don't mean it now  
Sometimes I roam  
But, I'll be coming back home  
Sometimes, I seem to be fly  
I just don't know when to say bye bye"


	18. Jon

Sansa leads Jon to the edge of a copse of aspens, their quivering yellow-green leaves just starting to melt into orange, revealing a clearing, carpeted in wildflowers. It's so lovely that he holds his breath, unable to step forward.

"Sansa…"

"I know."

In the center of the clearing stands the largest, oldest tree Jon has ever seen. He knew it would be here. He's read about it and even seen pictures. They didn't prepare him for this. It's not just a tree. It's fucking Terabithia. Xanadu. Avalon.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Sansa is staring at him, waist-deep in wildflowers, the sun burnishing her braided crown to match the fête de rouge on glorious display behind her. She's the queen of the honeybees, a cloud of sweet pollen floating in a haze around her.

He doesn't belong here.

Yet, he steps out all the same and she starts to drift away again, leaving a wake of willow-leaved sunflowers and feathery blue sage behind her. Inexplicably, he's bereft.

"Wait. Can I see your phone."

"My phone?" She turns, squinting in confusion. "Why?"

Because he wants to trap a moment in amber, prove a dream, freeze a vision. Even when it doesn't belong to him, and he'll have nothing to show for it. "Just give me your phone, Sansa." She obeys, pulling it from of a pocket in her dress, tossing it his way. He flicks on the camera.

"What are you doing?" She stiffens, and maybe the moment isn't meant to be trapped. Dreams are meant to be fleeting. Visions change. Still, it's always worth trying. 

"Stealing your identity, obviously." This earns him a guarded smile and he captures it.

"Jon-" she whines.

"Sansa-" He drags her name out in a gruff imitation of her uncle and she bites her lip in mock annoyance. He captures that too. "What? My girlfriend is always complaining that the only photos she has of herself are selfies because no one else will take her picture. I'm tipping the balance." Sansa blushes into a cluster of asters, and the fact he hasn't thought of Ygritte in hours knocks around the back of his brain for a moment, but he can't give it attention now. _Click. _

"At least with a selfie I can check the angles, you know?"

He does not. _Click. _

"Make sure I don't have a double-chin or anything."

He snickers. "First of all, I'm offended by your lack of faith in my photography skills." _Haughty full lips. Amused eyes._ _Click_. "Second, what angle could possibly give _you_ a double chin. You couldn't make one if you tried."

"Yes, I can!" She comes to life again, forgetting the camera, in her indignation. "Arya and I used to do it all the time." Her head starts to pull into her neck as if to prove it but then she catches herself when he pretends to snap another photo. "No! Jon, I trusted you!"

And, just as she's truly laughing, all straight white teeth and apple cheeks, _click_, he's got it._ Felicity_. "Here," he tosses the phone back to her with a shrug. "Delete it later, if you want." He brushes by her as she stares at her lock screen. "Now, tell me about this tree."

"This tree? _This tree?_" She swats at his shoulder, the phone forgotten. "It's the heart of Winterfell. The oldest known weirwood!" He knows, but he wants to hear her tell him. He wants to hear her tell him _everything_. And she does; from tales of ancient blood sacrifice to modern field studies performed by scientists from the natural history museum in White Harbor who come every decade to examine it. Together, they edge the dark pool of water that lies at its feet, stepping onto the massive roots. They stand shoulder-to-shoulder, staring up into the crimson depths. Sansa presses closer, tracing the faint outline of an ancient solemn face, still visible in the weathered trunk.

"Be careful what you say here, Jon Snow," she whispers. "The old gods know when men are lying."

She kicks off her Chelsea boots, stuffing her socks in the openings, before tip-toeing like a dancer along the longest root stretching into the water. Jon settles against the trunk, watching her straddle the pale wood, her feet disappearing into the dark water below; her skirt, a pool of gold across her thighs. It's silent but for the crickets and the crush of grass as the dogs circle the pool. Maybe, if he's still enough, the tree will grow around him and he can stay here forever. The wood is smooth and almost soft beneath his fingers, and Sansa is humming something soothing under her breath. His eyes close and he breathes deeply, and it feels like the first time. In the last hour, something has loosened in his chest. He feels almost dizzy with oxygen, like he's spent too long at altitude and just now come down to the sea.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Sansa's voice is so quiet, she could be talking to herself.

"Mm." He can't muster words.

"You can't tell anyone."

"I understand the mechanics of a secret, Sansa." The late afternoon sun is wrapping over him like a heavy blanket, painting the backs of his eyelids in salmons and peach.

“I used to fantasize about losing my virginity here.” _Seven Hells. _He's awake now. "I read excerpts from one of the Maester's accounts once. One year, during an unusually mild autumn, guards were posted outside the godswood because they kept finding couples lying here in the mornings, wrapped in each other's arms beneath the heart tree. I found the idea of it terribly romantic."

He blinks, desperately trying to push away the image of Sansa here, bathed in moonlight. He palms at the moist soil and wood beneath him, remembering the feel of her; that line of smooth skin, exposed when he helped her with her jumpsuit. Her hair, sliding between his fingers like weighted silk.

“It doesn’t matter, now,” she continues, still quiet. “And I suppose it's for the best. It isn't exactly a memory I'd like linked to this place."

_Ah._ His fingers curl, digging into the soft, shallow root he's found, just beneath the surface. "The first time is always awkward," he coughs. 

"Yeah?" She turns her face to him, eyes wide. "Was yours?"

_Is this what she meant by being friends? Swapping sex stories? _Theon and Ygritte can barely shut up about the topic, though he usually tries not to engage. He certainly doesn't want to hear about Sansa with anyone else.

She must see it in his face, for suddenly her face is flaming, as she backtracks. "Ugh, sorry! I'm being weird and nosy. Ignore me." It occurs to him that the topic is just as uncomfortable for her. _Then why did she bring it up?_

"It's fine. Honestly, I hardly remember it." Not exactly true. It was at a party and he remembers the heart-pounding fear that someone might walk in on them. He remembers Ygritte urging him on in teasing whispers and his body eagerly ignoring his misgivings. "It definitely wasn't worthy of the godswood."

"Maybe that's the problem," she says. "I had built up this fantasy of it, and even though I expected it would be different, I was still setting myself up for disappointment." She's pulled her feet up, and she's wrapped around her knees, almost protectively. Jon follows the arch of her back, wondering if that's how Ygritte felt. Disappointed. If so, it didn't stop her from pulling him into other bedrooms, and closets, and cars…and each time it got better. His mind grew quieter, his hands more confident, and she'd turn almost sweet beneath them; softer and more confident too…for a while at least. Things change. 

"I don't think there is a problem with having higher expectations," he says at last. "Prince didn't build his music career off of thirty seconds of disappointment."

Sansa giggles, "True enough. Neither did Madonna or Nicki Minaj."

"Or James Brown, or Marvin Gaye, or Outkast…we'd be missing more than half the world's song catalog if sex was always as bad as the first time. No one would be singing about it."

"Right."

"Thank the gods, it gets better, right?"

She's quiet again, and maybe it didn't get better for her. Maybe pre-med crew team captain doesn't have it all, after all. Money _can't_ buy everything. Jon shouldn't feel so pleased at the thought. Especially if it came at Sansa's expense.

"Well, the godswood isn't going anywhere, Sansa." She can still have her romance, with a different guy. Someone more deserving of her.

"Maybe not, but Winterfell will continue to deteriorate if no one takes care of it." She swings fully around, her skirt twisting around her like tulip petals, her painted toes peeking out, only a small stretch away from his own scuffed-up soles. "It'd be impossible to restore most of it, but the main buildings could be saved, and even brought back. I read about the Water Gardens in Dorne. They were in a similar state of disrepair, and due to a huge grant and a dedicated team of architects and builders who specialize in historic preservation, they were able to return the palace to much of its former glory. Now, it's a world-class museum and home for many of Dorne's most important historical artifacts."

"Is that what you hope to do for Winterfell?"

She bites her lip, glancing up. "I mean, there are so many barriers…"

"But…"

"But, yes. The Citadel has a heritage conservation track in their school of architecture. It's a really prestigious program, and next to impossible to get it in, but if I can keep my grades up and do well on my placement tests this fall, and put a good portfolio together, I _think _I have a chance of getting in." She's drumming her fingers excitedly across her knees while she speaks and he is sucked in, once again. 

"I'll keep helping you with math, if you want."

"You would?" She's beaming.

"If it gets you a step closer to your dreams, then obviously."

"Well, even if I get in, then my family would have to figure out a way to pay for it. Robb got a full-ride to the Vale, but I don't play any sports, and while we're doing fine, my parents have to put five of us though college...and Casterly Rock isn't cheap either. The Citadel is the most expensive school in the country. Then…let's say I do become an architect…I'd still have to pull millions in funding to restore Winterfell, and-"She's talking faster now, her brow furrowing as she walks through the various obstacles she's facing. She's so passionate and lovely, it's taking everything in Jon not to do something profoundly stupid.

"Sansa…" He presses gently on her toes with his. 

"Oh, sorry. I must be boring you."

He laughs. "Not at all. I'm just trying to stop the worry train. Let's take it one step at a time, yeah?"

Her shoulders sag, and she lets out a breathy laugh. "Yeah. You're right. First step. Don't fail precalculus." She sticks her tongue out in disgust.

"We can do better than that. I promise. Math prodigy over here, remember?" Not once has he ever been so happy about being gifted in math. She's smiling at him like he just told her he'd pay her college tuition. That, he can't help her with.

"Thanks Jon. It would seriously be so wonderful if you'd tutor me. Otherwise, I'll have to start going to Mr. Baelish's office hours and honestly, he creeps me out."

"Say no more."

"I can pay you-"

"Nonsense," he rolls his eyes, rising to his feet. "I thought we were friends." _Like he'd ever take her money. _

"We are," she's looking up at him, all blue-eyed sincerity, and it'd be so easy to haul her up against him; sink his teeth into that bottom lip she keeps biting. Show her what you don't need a private school education to learn. Show her that they could be so much more than friends…if she wanted.

_But you couldn't be. _It's Ygritte's voice. _You're never going to have your shit together, Snow. _

"That's enough talk about me and my silly hopes and dreams. Your turn." Sansa rises gracefully to her feet as well, and what the hell is he supposed to say? That he locked his capital 'D' dreams in a trunk, wrapped it in chains and threw it into the ocean? That he actively avoids anything not within his pathetically short reach? That thinking past the next seven days makes his blood pressure spike and stomach clench like he's some middle-aged protagonist from an Arthur Miller play? _I'm a fucking Willy Loman, Sansa…I can't afford big dreams._

He can’t tell her that. Not when she's looking at him like he's got something wonderful just waiting on the tip of his tongue. 

"Right now, I'm dreaming about another one of those doughnuts." He attempts a flirtatious grin, but realizes immediately that it was the wrong tack.

"Oh," She glances away. _She opens ups and you make a joke about food. Asshole_.

He tries again, opting for a small truth. "Look, my dreams will seem woefully prosaic next yours." He cups at his neck. "I don't have a Winterfell, Sansa."

"I shouldn't have put you on the spot." Her neck flushes down across the bit of collarbone visible and she's brushing at her skirts, nervously. "It's just been nice talking to someone who didn't immediately poke holes in my plans. Everyone is always telling me to get my head out of the clouds." His hands flex at his sides. "That I should be more realistic and that I'm only setting myself up for disappointment." Her lips are turned down, her thoughts clearly turning inward, pulling her light with them. Jon feels like shit.

"Fuck them."

"What?" She looks up, astonished.

"You heard me. Fuck them. Fuck them and their shitty, small minds. Just because other people have no imagination, does not mean you should make yours smaller, Sansa. Plus, it's not like you're just twiddling your thumbs thinking someone is going to wave a wand and hand you everything on a silver platter. You've clearly done your research and you have a plan. Like…a real one. A worthy one. Fuck. Theon thinks he's going to be a rock star because he smokes a lot of weed and plays in a shitty garage band, and he's not sweating over other people's opinions about his prospects. Spoiler alert. They are a hell of a lot less likely than yours." He can't believe he's using _Theon_, of all people, to prop Sansa up right now, but it seems to be working because she's laughing now, biting at that damn lip, eyes bright with mirth.

"Well, Jon, according to the many music documentaries and biopics I've watched with my dad and brothers over the years, Theon seems to be following a pretty standard formula…it seems like a rock solid plan to me." Again, he could kiss her.

But then, his phone rings…and it's an incoming video call from Ygritte.

_He is an asshole. The biggest asshole._

"Hey, what's up?"

Ygritte's squinting at him, under a fluorescent glow, the picture disconcerting in its harsh blue white light and shaky cam. She's in a supermarket or something, clearly on the move. "Dude, where are you?"

"Work." His eyes flick to Sansa, who is looking at her own phone, mouthing several silent _shits. _"Where are you?"

"Stocking up for the party tonight. When do you get out? What do these assholes have you doing anyway? Are you in the fucking woods?" He switches to voice-only, pulling the phone to his ear, just as Sansa almost loses her balance trying to shimmy by him to where her shoes are tucked. She grabs his biceps, and his hands find her waist, as he presses his phone precariously against his shoulder with his cheek. 

"What party?"

"Are you under water? Your housewarming party!" He can hear another voice in the background singing "Free at Last". It's Theon.

"Gritte, I gotta work tomorrow morning. And I've lived there for two years." Sansa is hopping around, hastily shoving on her socks and boots, and he grabs her back pack, ducking under a low-hanging branch towards the path.

There is a muttered conversation on the other end of the line, and suddenly Theon is yelling into the phone. "Fuck you, Snow! You are the first of us to taste freedom, and you expect us not to celebrate? Get your ass home, man. And don't give us that shit about work in the morning. We are burning shit up tonight. Gird up!" There is another scuffle and Ygritte is back.

"Look, I know you have to work in the morning. But you have to live too, Jon. Let us turn this shittiest of shitty shit-piles that your mom left you in into lemonade or whatever. I'll stay and clean up in the morning and everything."

"Oh…will you?" Sansa is whistling for the dogs now, and Summer wades out of the reeds, soaking wet. Lady slips through the border trees, a white ghost against the shadows. "The girl who has a two-year old sparkling water can, sitting on her dresser…that girl is going to clean up."

"Yes. That girl. Your girl."

_He is an asshole. __The_ _biggest_.

"K, I gotta go now. I'll call you on my way home."

Sansa has caught up to him and he can't even look at her.

"I didn't realize how late it was," she exclaims. "Robb's swim practice ended a half hour ago!"

"Shit. I'm sorry Sansa."

She laughs, breathless. "It's not your fault. I'm the one who didn't stop talking for two hours straight. Gods, and you have plans tonight. I'm so sorry."

He glances at her, and she's smiling, still unaware of his shit personality. _Give it time. _

"It's fine. I didn't know I had plans until just now, so…" He shrugs.

"Where is your mom, anyway?" _What did she hear? _"Or is she cool with parties at your house? My friend, Margaery's parents are like that. They don't even care if she serves alcohol." She whistles in through her teeth. "My parents are decidedly _not_ cool with such things. I'm grounded…for apparently ever because of what happened the other weekend."

"Yeah, I heard something about that night. Something about rainbow vomit," he teases. "And, my mom is in Pentos."

"Oh! Nice. I heard the beaches are beautiful. Good for her." She assumes Lyanna is on vacation. Gone for a weekend. Coming back.

_Let her assume. It's simpler that way. _

They rush through the maze of Winterfell, and once again Jon would be lost without Sansa. He follows the blaze of her skirt through the dying light, and they fumble, together, to close and lock the gate, and then they're running down the road, the dogs jumping around them in excitement, the rest of the pack bounding out of the blue-black grass to meet them. There is a shiny truck in the parking lot, it's lights on, parked beside Sansa's SUV, and Sansa tugs frantically for her backpack when they skid up to the office. Her hair has grown wild, strands pulling from her braid and floating around her flushed face. She leaves him for the lit-up workshop before he can catch his breath.

Inside, once again, his system has been ignored and there is a brand new stack of papers strewn across the desk. Instantly his chest tightens. The familiar knot of frustration presses at his clammy spine. He grabs his backpack and a handful of the papers, his already racing pulse throbbing at his temple. _It's a pretty fucking simple system. Is it so hard to ask for anyone to fucking follow it?_

He traces Sansa's steps to the shop, trying and failing to cool his temper. He stomps in, fully ready to rage and stops in his tracks, papers crunching in his sweaty hand. Three pairs of eyes glance up at him from Benjen's work table. Sansa's, sea-blue and warm...and two sets of almost identical gray, squinting at him beneath dark, heavy brows.

"Snow." Benjen tugs at his beard. "I suppose it's about time you met the big boss."

"Jon," Sansa is beaming next to her uncle. "This is my dad!" On her other side stands a serious-looking man with Benjen's long face and dark hair, but it's trimmed short and gray-flecked like his beard, and he carries about thirty pounds and a decided air of authority that Benjen lacks.

Jon is acutely aware of sweat trickling down his neck, sticking to his t-shirt, and his heart, still thumping erratically in his chest. It's a small consolation that his tattoo is hidden beneath his tangle of hair. "Hi Mr. Stark. It's nice to meet you," he manages.

Ned Stark gives him a slight nod before tilting back to his daughter. "It's late. You shouldn't have lingered at the castle so close to dark. It isn't safe."

"I know, daddy. We lost track of time." _She calls him daddy._ Jon is fucked. Benjen is inspecting him, with an arched brow. "It was beautiful though. The godswood is covered in wildflowers right now and the heart tree is glorious. You and mom should visit." She's smiling up at her father, innocently, and she is. It's Jon who has guilt churning through his gut.

"Well, I'm glad you got to see it then, princess. It's doubtful either myself or your mom will be able to find the time this season." He tucks a hair behind her ear, and the casual display of parental affection twists Jon's stomach further. Sansa pulls away, almost petulantly.

"Well, someone needs to go. There are saplings growing up along the walls, and scaffolding about to fall down. Ivy is taking over the Great Keep. It's going to destroy the mortar." She glares at both Stark men, and Benjen sighs.

"She has a point, Ned. The grounds need tending."

"Alright. Alright. I'll schedule some time with the men, before the snows start. We'll take a week and shore things up before winter." Ned reaches for Sansa again, and this time she hugs him back.

"Thank you daddy!"

"Now get going. You're already late picking Robb up." He kisses the top of her head before she slips out of his arms, turning to Benjen.

"What did you think of the website proofs?"

"They were great, toots. I was just showing your dad. I couldn't choose." She starts to scold him, but he cuts her off with a laugh, assuring her that he narrowed down the options, giving her the authority to make the final decisions. Jon has to hand it to Sansa. She gets things done. Jon watches as her dad pipes in, offering to let her re-imagine the sites for the construction company and the hardware store, and Sansa is rolling on the balls of her toes, as she flashes Jon a carefree grin. Ned and Benjen are looking at her with so much affection, it's painful.

Jon is an idiot. Sansa Stark doesn't need his help to achieve her dreams. She'll do that just fine on her own, and if she does need help, she doesn't need to turn to _him_. She's got people around her who love her and have a hell of a lot more to offer her than he does. _Who does Ygritte have? _A voice asks.

A depressed, overly-medicated mother. An absent asshole of a father. Jon Snow. _An idiot, as well as an asshole_.

He's so busy hating himself, that he hardly notices the conversation between the other three is ending. Sansa gives her dad one more hug when Ned tells her to, "skedaddle, or you'll miss dinner."

Jon musters half a smile as she approaches, expecting her to breeze by him. At the last second, she flings her arms over his shoulders and she's hugging him with a "thank you Jon," as he stands there, frozen. He has no idea what she's thanking _him _for, but she's out the door with a happy hum before he can respond, leaving him alone to face the two Stark men who watched the exchange with grey, inscrutable eyes.

Jon's temple throbs.

Benjen's eyes flick down to the papers still wadded up in Jon's hands. "You came in hot about something. Let me guess. Did Ned fuck with the system?"

Jon's mouth is dry.

"I told you there was a system, Ned. We're going to break this kid if we keep fucking with it." He elbows his brother with a sly grin, and Jon finds his voice at last.

"I mean, it's okay Mr. Stark-"

"No it isn't." Ned steps around the table, offering Jon a warm handshake and friendly smile. "Ben and the guys mentioned that you're cleaning up the paperwork around here, and it's long overdue. We really appreciate it. It's just I haven't taken the time to learn the ropes." Before Jon knows it, he's being steered back towards the door with a steady hand on his shoulder. "Do you mind giving me a quick run-through before you head out. I can't be the one breaking from standard procedure. It sets a bad example."

"Sure, Mr. Stark. No problem."

"Thanks, son."

Jon has never heard those words spoken to him, by a man. They taste strange. As Ned leads him back out into the night, he just catches Benjen's muttered grievance. 

"So he's _Mr. Stark_ and I'm what? _Old man_? Seven hells. I'm the younger one. By a lot!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated Notes: 
> 
> No specific music mentioned in this chapter, but I listened to "Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes" by Paul Simon a lot when I was writing it. 
> 
> I'm blown away by all the thoughtful comments to this story so far. Thank you everyone! You are the best. Jon and Sansa, exploring the ruins of Winterfell and bonding in the godswood was one of the first images I had in my head for this story, and I've pretty much built the plot around this chapter and another which acts as the dramatic climax, so I was really excited to write and share this. 
> 
> For those eager for Jon to finally break it off with Ygritte and get to together with Sansa, already...it's going to be a bit longer. They really don't know each other yet and if Jon started dating Sansa now, when he has such low self-worth and he's putting her on a pedestal...and she is still completely naive about his whole situation, their romance would be a non-starter. This really is going to be a friends to lover story and a slow burn...but this is a Jonsa happy ending story also, so I hope you enjoy the messy teenage drama (and there is going to be drama) along the way! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and all the lovely comments!


	19. Sansa

_Don't look at your phone. Don't even pick it up. It won't make you feel better. You're better than this._

Sansa is not better than _this_, whatever _this _is.

She's cleaned her room, baked two-hundred brown butter chocolate chip cookies for tomorrow's bake sale, wasted an hour falling down a rabbit hole on YouTube over sixteenth century fashion, and finished all of her homework, including an essay on_ The Awakening _that isn't even due for another week. It's Friday night and while the rest of the world is out enjoying their weekends, she's on week two of a completely non-existent social life…unless she counts tagging along to Robb's band practice or pestering her new "office mate" with such extreme dorkiness that he can't even be bothered to accept her friend requests on social media. _What gives Jon Snow?_

She's not a pariah.

Sansa _knows_ she's pretty and popular. She has eyes and ears and sixteen years of experience on the subject. Were she to doubt the fact, she could easily scroll through dozens of selfies and group shots with her friends, each with hundreds of likes and comments telling her _how amazing_ and _gorgeous _she is. It's a hollow sort of validation. Three hundred hearts on an image of her mirroring Margaery's signature smirk as they stand on either side of Joffrey at his party don't make her feel better, nor do they ease her current case of F.O.M.O.

Her one night of sexiness was overshadowed immediately by the whole pavlova disaster. And, since her parents are immovable rocks, she can't go anywhere. There are already hundreds of photos posted from the Tyrell's party last weekend of all her friends having the time of their lives without her, erasing any possible high Sansa could have felt over her one night of perfect hair and a daring neckline.

_Who is she trying to impress anyway? _

The one bright spot to walking in on Harry with Mya and becoming an accidental meme, is that she has lost any lingering desire to ever get back together with him. Joffrey has DM'd her a few times since his party, but she won't touch that. Girl code, even if Marge insists that she's moved on from high school boys. Maybe Sansa should too. It's not like there is anyone who has piqued her interest, who she has any real chance with.

Jon Snow won't even make their friendship Facebook official_. _

She's just bored and lonely. She doesn't _really_ like him. And he certainly doesn't like her. Obviously. He has a girlfriend.

And_ poof_, there goes the last of her resolve.

She opens Instagram, and yep, Jon's account is still private, and her follow request is still ignored, just like the other forty times she's checked. She is _truly _tragic. Part of her wants to ask him why he hasn't responded. She sees him practically every day, but admitting that she's noticed his lack of response? Well that is too mortifying, even for her; _Ms. Over-sharer Extraordinaire_. She still can't believe she brought up losing her virginity to him. _What a disaster. _

It's Jon Snow's fault. He'd wandered through Winterfell with her, carrying her backpack, and listening to her with so much enthusiasm and warmth as she prattled on, that she completely let her guard down. She'd felt so _cozy _and _connected_ with him in the godswood, that she just spewed her secret desires all over him as if he would actually care…and then he had the gall to _act like he did_. A part of her knew it was lunacy to allude to her desperately non-existent sex life, but another part figured Jon Snow was maybe her best chance at getting some insight into the teenage male psyche. He'd already seen her at her worst, hadn't he? And its not like she’s going to turn to Robb for this stuff…and again, Jon was acting like he _cared_ about her thoughts and feelings.

_How dare he?_

Even now, her stomach flutters at the memory of him, staring down at her so intensely, telling her to ignore anyone who tries to make her dreams smaller. For a moment, it even felt like he might kiss her…but of course he wasn't going to. His girlfriend called the next moment.

Ygritte.

Sansa is a jerk. And an idiot, apparently, because suddenly she's frantically scrolling through Jeyne's followers and her common sense is screaming that this is a bad idea, but here is _TheonFuckingGreyjoy_ and sure enough, he's followed by __Not_Ur_Ygritte__ and this is definitely a bad idea, but Sansa dives in anyway because the account isn't private.

Staring back at her, with a cat eyed sneer, a snarl of electric blue hair, and a cigarette defying the laws of physics between her lips, is a girl who seems to have completely bypassed the bumpy road of teenage awkwardness, and is cruising along a smoother highway…with vanity plates: _Sexpot Riot Grrrl_. And just behind her, glancing off-camera with a bottle to his lips, is Jon Snow, looking like a grunge god in rumpled plaid, his anarchy tattoo partially obscured by an errant curl.

Sansa is an idiot.

An idiot, who can't look away from the endless feed of cigarettes and Jon Snow; the passage of time marked by whatever violent hue Ygritte chose for her hair that month. Tongue out. Acid orange waves. Sign of the horns. Black nails raking over a pierced naval. Pink hair tangled up in Jon Snow's curls. Matching bored glares. Middle fingers up. Cigarettes blazing in an alleyway.

_This is the girl that keeps My Little Ponies on her dresser? _

Bottle rockets and beer cans. A mess of punk rockers piled into a diner booth. Jon Snow staring out the window with Theon's skinny arm around his neck. Jon's dark curls receding up above his ears after she passes the series of Satin tattooing Jon's neck, Ygritte cradling his face in her lap.

_This is the guy who created a personalized tutoring plan for Sansa in Excel? Who nerds out with Uncle Ben over Star Trek? Who is currently reading Crime and Punishment…for fun?_

Ygritte's hand in his back pocket. Ygritte's legs wrapped around his waist. Ygritte's teeth pulling at his bottom lip.

Sansa throws her phone across her bed. _Enough_. She gets it.

Jon and Ygritte are a matching punk rock set. Sansa is his bandmate's little sister. Of course, he humors her when she's around. He's an anarchist; not an asshole.

He was never going to kiss her, though.

\---

Downstairs, her parents are still sitting at the dining room table, drinking wine and listening to Van Morrison, laughing and being cute. _How dare they. _

"I'm going to take the dog for a walk!" She slaps her thigh and Shaggy Dog and Arya bounce over the couch in tandem.

"I'm coming."

"Why?"

"Why not?" Arya shrugs, "I can only watch Rickon get Donkey Kong stuck in a corner of the track so many times. I'm so sick of being grounded." She practically shouts the last, as their parents rise from the table.

"Yes, we are aware of your feelings on the subject, Arya," Catelyn sighs. "You've made them quite clear."

"It's been two weeks! I didn't even _do _anything!"

"You snuck into a bar." Sansa reminds her.

"To see a band. Dad, didn't you and Uncle Brandon used to do the same? Sansa is the one who got wasted and threw up all over the place! I didn't even drink anything!"

"Enough," their father wraps an arm around both of his girls. "You make it hard for me to lift your punishment when you show no remorse, Arya. When Brandon and I snuck out, our parents caught us, and grounded us as well."

"And then you never snuck out, ever again?" Ned and Cat share a wary look, and Arya beams in triumph. "I just want to see live music, Dad! How am I supposed to do that when the bands I like seem to only ever play at bars? Do you honestly regret sneaking out with Uncle Brandon to see Bruce Springsteen in White Harbor when you were a teenager?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Uncle Benji," Arya grins and even Sansa has to cover her smirk with a cough. "Robb's band has their first show tonight. Don't you want me to support my brother?"

"Not at a bar_. _They're playing at a coffee shop tomorrow afternoon. Support him to your heart's content then." Their mother responds, drolly. "And word to the wise, sweet summer child, don't announce your intentions to break the law again as soon as the opportunity arises. I'm not just trying to raise obedient children, but intelligent ones as well." She taps Arya's temple, gently.

"Did your uncle also explain that they got a flat tire on the way back from White Harbor that night, with no spare? When they couldn't get ahold of Rickard, they had to wake up their co-conspirator, Barbrey Ryswell's father, the school principal. He had to come rescue them in the middle of the night and Brandon had been drinking at the concert. He was suspended and missed the last three hockey games of his final season and the team didn't make the playoffs for the first time in over a decade. The whole school hated him for weeks. If he were here today, I'm not sure he'd say the Boss was worth it.” Arya has the sense to look chagrined. She should have known she was playing a dangerous game, bringing up Uncle Brandon.

“We aren't just punishing you because we enjoy it, girls.” Their dad takes up the lecture. “We are trying to teach you a lesson and shield you from the larger consequences of your actions. What do you think would have happened that night, if instead of us finding you, Robb had gotten pulled over by the police, or the police came into the bar you were in? Maybe that bar would lose its license and bands wouldn't be able to play there anymore. Robb is legally an adult. Perhaps he'd just get a fine…but what if word got to the Vale and he lost his scholarship? Would you feel like a supportive sister then? Sansa, what if you were suspended? It'd surely be hard to stay on the honor roll, now wouldn't it?"

"I'm not the one arguing that we shouldn't have been punished," Sansa glares at Arya. "I promise you; I regret my actions. Now, may I please take the dog for a walk?"

Their parents share another tired glance. "Yes, but don't be gone long. We have a long day at the festival tomorrow. Ned, why don't you get Rickon up to bed. I'll handle the dishes."

\---

Outside, the sun has set, but the sky is violet above the trees, and the air smells like autumn and at the very least, when everything else is falling apart, Sansa can take solace in her favorite season. Arya darts into the shadows and emerges with her skateboard, immediately leaving Sansa and Shaggydog behind as she weaves down the quiet street in lazy loops. _So much for sisterly bonding. _Not that Sansa is in the mood for it. Why can’t Arya just shut up about their punishment? If she just accepted it, they might have been free this weekend. Instead, Sansa keeps getting pulled into her senseless arguments, as if she's also stoking rebellion. Arya makes everything worse.

The sounds of a basketball game echo across the street from the park, and like a moth to the flame Arya glides towards the lit-up court, leaving Sansa no option but to follow. A group of sweaty boys are playing, shirts and skins. As Arya rolls up to them, Sansa spies their awkward neighbor, Sam, sitting on a far bench, reading a book in the yellow lamplight.

“Hi Sam, how was your summer?” she sits beside him, too tired to remind her sister that joining a pick-up game in the park, isn’t on the list of allowed activities while being grounded. Arya can spend the rest of the semester stuck at home for all she cares.

“Oh,” Sam startles, clearly too absorbed in the _Account of the War of the Ninepenny Kings_ to have noticed her approach. “Hi Sansa. Heh…I didn’t see you there.” His eyes dart nervously at Shaggydog and she signs for the slobbery beast to lie down. “My summer was fine,” he murmurs, “Spent it in the south with my mother’s family, while my dad took Dickon sailing through the Redwyne Straits.” She follows his gaze to a tan, muscular teen, a head taller than any of the other boys on the court.

“That’s Dickon?” Last she saw the Tarly boys; Dickon was baby-faced and a few inches shorter than her. Now, he’s towering over Arya, spinning the ball on his finger as her sister laughs, gesticulating wildly with her board.

“Yeah…my dad’s pride and joy.” Sam murmurs and Sansa winces, remembering how intimidating Mr. Tarly is, with his Neighborhood Watch sign in the window and his strongly worded complaints towards any homeowners on the block who fail to meet his meticulous landscaping standards. He used to force poor Sam to join in the neighborhood street hockey games when they were younger, yelling for Sam to "man up"; an act Sansa found especially cruel, as the boy would be forced to play goalie when everyone knew he was terrified of the puck.

“Well, I’m sure he’s proud of you too, Sam. You’re one of the brightest students in Winter Town. I’ll never forgive you for beating in me in the city spelling bee in sixth grade,” she teases. “Have you landed on which university gets to sweep you away yet?”

Before he can answer, Arya’s skateboard clatters down between them, followed by her hoodie, and lastly her phone which lands in Sansa’s lap. “Can you watch my stuff? I’m going to play a few rounds.”

“Arya,” Sansa's protestation stops short when she looks up to find Dickon standing, shirtless, before her, with eyes so very similar to Sam’s. That’s where the resemblance starts and ends. It takes every last shred of dignity for her not to stare at his six-pack, tauntingly level with her line of sight.

“Hi Sansa,” He grins, and _maybe_ it’s a little premature to write off high school boys _just_ yet. Who cares if he’s a year younger than her, with a jawline like that? “You want to join us?”

Arya snorts, answering for her. “When pigs fly. Come on Dickon, I don’t have much time before its back to my jail cell. Sansa wouldn’t want to chip a nail.” _Or get concussed_, but Sansa keeps the sentiment to herself, smiling shyly as Arya drags Dickon back to the asphalt. He doesn’t need to know she’s as cowardly as Sam when it comes to the possibility of hard objects flying toward her face.

“Let me guess,” she turns back to Sam. “The Citadel, early acceptance with the Eyrie as your safety school."

Sam giggles, "Oh to be the kid whose safety school is the Eyrie, am I right?" Sansa rolls her eyes, thinking about Robb and his baffling indifference to his own good fortunes. "But I did apply early acceptance to the Citadel. I'm still waiting to hear back. If I don't get in, I'll be sending applications to the Eyrie and King's Landing College and North State as well, just in case."

"You'll get in, and when you come back for fall break next year, I'll buy you a coffee and you can tell me all about Oldtown and how wonderful it is to sip Arbor Gold and discuss your favorite philosophers with other intellectuals along the Honeywine, as I wait for my _own_ early acceptance letter."

"You want to go to the Citadel too?" He bobs his head excitedly and soon they're nerding out together about the hallowed university with its famously beautiful campus and infamously strict professors and, fleetingly, Sansa wonders why she never made more of an effort to befriend Sam. They've been neighbors for ages, and they've always shared similar interests, bumping into each other at Model U.N. and middle school debate club competitions. But the Tarly's went to Winter Town High because their father thought public school would toughen Sam up (_as if navigating Casterly Rock’s social hierarchy was easy)_ and their paths crossed less as Sansa's own social life expanded. _. _

She cringes at the thought of Sam trying to blend in at a Tyrell party, with his baggy middle-aged accountant clothes, or tailgating with Harry and the Kettleblack boys, his high-pitched giggle sure to trigger silent stares and snide jokes behind his back. Loras would turn away in boredom with the first sign of Sam's stutter, which, in all honesty, has improved quite dramatically over the years, Sansa concedes. Still, Margaery would pounce at the first whiff of insecurity in his bowed shoulders. It’s not like she’s cruel on purpose, but sometimes her sharp wit escapes faster than her better sense can reign it in. And while the guys in their group might not purposely bully him, they certainly wouldn't readily welcome a shy, bumbling nerd without an ounce of athleticism, into their circle. Sansa loves her friends, but they're not the most friendly group. It was hard enough to get Marge to bring Jeyne into the fold, and Jeyne is lovely and funny and…perfect, really.

Maybe when they're both at the Citadel…then she and Sam could be besties. _He'd _accept her friend request, surely.

Arya's phone vibrates in her lap for the fifth time and _gods_, why is _she_ suddenly so popular? It’s like she’s befriended everyone in Winter Town besides Sansa...her own flesh and blood. "Arya! Your phone is blowing up!" She calls, annoyed to see her careening wildly off some guy's shoulders so she can dunk. All the other boys are hooting and whistling as she tips the ball into the net, and her phone buzzes _again._ In a huff, Sansa stares at the screen and it's a message from…_Jon Snow._ Arya yells something back to her, but she's too busy staring at the locked screen to hear it, incomprehensibly emotional over the name flashing back at her.

"Why is Jon Snow texting _you_?" she mutters when Arya arrives, breathing hard as she snatches the phone from her hand.

"Because he's my friend. Duh."

"Oh, you're friends with Jon, too?" Sam rocks excitedly. "Lovely!" Sansa is frozen, watching Arya and Sam enthuse about their _mutual _love for Jon Snow. Jon Snow, who is apparently friends with _everyone_. Arya, Sam, Robb…probably half the stupid boys on the basketball court in front of her. _Gods_, Sansa really is an idiot, thinking there was something special about her supposed friendship with Jon Snow. The boy who won't even let her see his Facebook profile. She fumes at her own stupidity, only coming to as Arya waves a dark, blurry photo of Jon and Robb in their faces.

"Their first show together is tonight, at The Flea! I can't _believe_ I'm going to miss it!"

"Oh right, I think Jon mentioned something about that in history class today…said I should come." Sam's eyes flit to Dickon, who collapses onto the bench beside his brother, all sweaty, but in a good way. "I just don't think bars are really my thing…not that I've been to one, to know. I just…"

"Well, they're playing at the Harvest Festival tomorrow," Sansa offers. "At the _Tears of Lys._"

"Are you going to be there?" Dickon asks, head craning back over the bench, to smile at her.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Are you friends with Jon, too?" Sam asks, and Arya snorts, as if he said something outrageous.

"She's just a dutiful sister to Robb. Sans doesn't even like post-punk-"

"Just because it's not my _first_ choice to listen to, doesn't mean I _hate_ it. Gods…"

"Whatever. Neither of us are going to be able to see them if we don't head home soon. Come on." Arya drags her to her feet, as if she wasn’t the one who sidetracked their walk. "Bye Thing One. Bye Thing Two!" And she's skating away, Shaggydog leaping happily beside her, his leash in his mouth, and Sansa is unraveled.

"Well, I hope we see you tomorrow at the festival, Sansa." Dickon smiles at her again, and she backs away with a nod.

"Good luck Sam! I hope you get your acceptance letter soon."

"He will!" Dickon ruffles his older brother's hair, before jumping to his feet, and he’s _definitely_ taller than Sansa now. "Come on, we better get home too. I'll tell dad you made a three-pointer."

"If we're going to lie about me playing, let's at least make it believable."

Dickon laughs, "fine, I'll tell him you passed it to me, and _I _made a three pointer…but I'll emphasize that I couldn't have done it without you."

Sansa smiles as she wraps her arms around herself in the dark. So what if she is just one of Jon Snow's many friends? He's just one of many friends she has, too. She was blowing things out of proportion because she has been grounded for two weeks and hasn't seen the outside world. There isn't anything particularly special about their interactions. They're just friends. Casual acquaintances really. There are other fish in the sea. In fact, they’re just around the corner…

When she gets back to her room, she pulls her phone from where she left it on her bed. Jeyne and Marge both texted her their condolences. They're having a girl's night at Marge's, and she pushes down the momentary flair of jealousy at their rosy cheeks smashed together in the photo they sent her. _It's supposed to be Three Musketeers! #LorasIsNoAramis_

She texts back, _Of course he isn't. He doesn't like women!_ Then she turns on her camera, arranging herself before her windowsill, letting her hair sweep over her shoulder, a melancholy look upon her face as she stares out into the night. After half a dozen takes, she opens her photo-editing app, swiping through her options, already formulating a response in her mind…something about a princess trapped in a tower, or should she tie it back to Dumas? She stops short when she swipes past the last in the series, her breath catching behind her teeth.

Smiling back at her, golden and radiantly happy…is herself, in the godswood. Somehow, she had completely forgotten about Jon Snow taking her phone, stealing pictures of her before the heart tree. Now, she can’t look away. Six photos. Six photos that he took of her on a whim…and it’s like she’s seeing herself for the first time. No. It’s like she’s seeing the version of herself that she _wants_ to be seen. Her expression differs in each, like he captured different facets of her prism; joyful, coy, wistful, shy and blushing, even hesitant...guarded. All ethereal. All in a halo of hazy sunlight and a sea of autumn blossoms, the inferno of the heart tree’s blaze in the middle distance, lighting the strands her hair in a glorious crown like she’s a weirwood made flesh. 

Six photos.

Jon Snow saw her _like this._ Joyful and mysterious. Brimming and beautiful.

And somehow, it isn’t enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh...I took a very long break (for me) from writing. And now I'm just impatient to post something, so this is probably not as well-edited as it should be, but I've been so busy lately, and I miss A03, so you're getting it as is, I'm afraid. 
> 
> Thanks to anyone who has posted comments in the last month, while I was taking a break. You are lovely and it really is the best thing ever to see appreciation for my writing. It's seriously the best, so thank you and I plan to respond to anything I haven't replied to when I come up a bit for air.


	20. Sansa

Robb and Ned were up and away before Sansa emerged from her shower in the morning. The house is chaos as Catelyn tries to wrangle the remaining Starks out the door. "Sansa, stop feeding Shaggydog scraps from the table and get dressed! Bran, there are two boxes of gourds by the back door that need to be brought to the store for the window display. Be a dear and put them in the car. And where are Arya and Rickon?" 

Sansa skips up the stairs before she's pulled into the hunt, almost knocking into her younger sister as she slides down the bannister. "One of these days that's going to break."

"Whatever, killjoy."

"You better change. We are supposed to wear floral for the Women's Club Bake Sale. Ms. Lannister is going to be there, so we have to be on our best behavior." Her little sister is wearing their dad's old Falcon's sweatshirt and ripped up jeans, looking for all the world like she's about to spend the day painting a house or cleaning out a garage, and not hobnobbing with their mother's friends and clients. 

"I'm not working the bake sale. I'm selling tickets to the haunted fun house with Mycah." 

"Says who?" 

Before Arya can respond, Catelyn is at the bottom of the stairs. "Me. You know that it'll be better for everyone if Arya isn't cooped up all day in a tent with the Women's Club ladies. Help me get through the midday rush, Sansa, and you can slip away and spend the afternoon with Harry if you'd like." 

"Gods, Mom! They broke up weeks ago! Catch up!" Arya yells as the back door slams behind her and Sansa is alone, staring down the steps at her mother whose face has fallen into a look of concern. 

"Oh, Sansa, dear. Why didn't you tell me?" 

She sighs, "It's fine, Mom. Like Arya said, it happened weeks ago, and it was just a high school fling. They aren't meant to last." She turns back up the stairs, not waiting to see if her brush off was convincing. She dresses in the dark maxi dress waiting on her hook, with its long flowy sleeves and pattern of intricate woodland flowers. Usually, she feels like Florence Welch in it. Today though, as she inspects herself in the mirror, it's coming off less stylishly bohemian and more dowdy Victorian with the small ruffles along the high collar and shoulders. _ Ygritte would never wear something like this _.

Just as she's about to dive back into her closet, Bran yells up the stairs, "We're going to leave without you, Sansa," and the choice is made for her. _ It's fine. _ She'll just hide in a corner of the tent with Old Nan and sneak lemon cakes all day. No one has to see her. So what if the band is playing this afternoon? It's not like any of them care if she watches their show, and she's basically heard the entire set already in rehearsals. It's not like Robb told everybody at school about it. It's not like she promised to get there early and save a spot up front with Marge and Jeyne. 

Ygritte will probably be there. So that's another reason to skip...at least until she gets over her absurd crush. 

"Sansa! Mom is literally starting the engine!" Bran yells again. 

"Coming!" The best she can do is throw on sunglasses and a wide-brimmed fedora and hope no one recognizes her. Outside, Arya is still arguing with Rickon about buckling his car seat and Cat is on her phone, pacing up the driveway while Bran sits on the back step, whistling the march from Bridge Over the River Kwai. "Liar," Sansa flicks off his baseball cap. "We're nowhere near about to leave."

"She was starting the engine before her phone rang."

\---

When they finally find a parking spot, it's apparent to everyone that they would have been better off leaving the car at home and walking. Though the festival hasn't officially started yet, the main street is closed off, and the big parking lot has been littered with carnival rides overnight. Arya peels off from their group when Mycah gives her a holler from on top of the Ferris wheel. Bran and Sansa are left to lug the several boxes to the hardware store, while their mom takes Rickon and their contributions to the bake sale in the opposite direction. 

Outside the store, Benjen is struggling with a pop-up tent, which keeps leaning to one side in the wind. Meera watches, unhelpfully, from the front step. 

"This is your fault, Sansa! Making me set up a stand, like I'm some lady selling doilies at a craft fair," He curses when the whole thing folds up on top of him.

"Good morning to you too, Uncle Ben," she rolls her eyes. "Where is Robb? He can get you bags of sand to anchor the tent. And don't knock doilies. There are entire rooms at the Met devoted to Myrish Lace alone. You can poke fun at craft fairs when even one of your pieces is on display at a similarly storied institution. Until then, you better get comfortable setting up this tent because I have three holiday craft markets lined up for you. Your live edge cutting boards are going to sell like hot cakes."

"They're the _ dumbest _ thing I make. You're just supposed to be sprucing up my website, not taking over the business! And don't get me started on your brother. I haven't had my morning caffeine fix yet because he disappeared on a coffee run ages ago. How long does it take to pour a bloody cup of coffee? If Snow is holding up my joe because he ordered some pumpkin spice, whipped cream nonsense-"

Before Benjen can finish his rant, Jon himself, appears in the doorway and before Sansa can land on an appropriate emotion, he's lifting the box from her arms with a husky, "Nice dress," and then he's back in the shop, leaving her empty-handed and a bit empty-headed. _ Was that a nice 'nice dress' or a sarcastic 'nice dress'? _She can't tell. 

"He looks like he needs caffeine more than you," she remarks at last, meeting eyes with her uncle.

Meera sniggers. "You think? He looks like he spent the night sleeping under a car." Sansa wouldn't go that far, but it was hard to miss the circles under his eyes or how pale and papery his skin looked in the cold morning light. 

"Give the kid a break. They played their first show last night, didn't they? If he's a bit wrung out this morning, that just means he's doing it right." Benjen jumps to Jon's defense. 

"Well then, he's been doing it right every weekend. He's looked like crap every morning since he started at the store," Meera says, heading back inside to supervise, since Robb is still M.I.A. Sansa pictures Ygritte's Instagram feed with its late night cigarettes and coffee at the diner, and regular parties in what looks like someone's drab basement. So, Jon works hard and plays hard. It's not entirely shocking. It niggles at her though; how tired he looks and how he doesn't talk about partying when he's at Winterfell. Her other friends are always eager to share their weekend exploits, but when Sansa asked how his party went when his Mom was out of town, Jon just gave her a noncommittal shrug and told her it was fine. 

_ That's because you aren't really friends. _

She turns, more than ready to join her mom at the bake sale, when Robb comes skipping across the street with a drink carrier in hand. "Sansa! Just the girl I'm looking for." Her brother is as chipper as ever, seemingly inured to whatever wrecked Jon Snow. "Can you help with the window display? Mom told me to spiff it up for the festival, but you're better at that sort of thing."

"Oh, sure. Skip out of work for an hour to flirt with some barista and then come back at the last minute to coerce your sister into doing your job." Benjen barks and Robb's face turns scarlet. 

"I… uh, what? No… I wasn't _ flirting _…" 

"Aren't you doing the same thing to me, Uncle Ben?" Sansa retorts, saving her brother from his bumbling. "Robb, I've got five minutes to spare for a consultation." 

Inside, Bran and Meera balance tiny pumpkins on their heads as they wind through the aisles, trying to trip each other up. Jon Snow is leaning against the paint counter, looking ragged. She fights the urge to ask him if he's okay, opting instead to tip over Bran's pumpkin and herd him over to the window display. "Here, help me before Mom walks by and turns Robb into the headless horseman." They distribute the gourds in artless piles throughout the window, as Jon and Robb hang a paint chip mobile over their heads; the autumnal pièce de résistance that Sansa spent hours crafting last year.

"Sans, I wish you could have been there last night. It was amazing," Robb excitedly recounts the band's show, "Jon was on fire, and apparently some promoters from White Harbor were there and Satin thinks he can book us some shows at North State! Isn't that fantastic?"

"Yeah, though, won't that be hard with swimming?" She doesn't want to rain on Robb's parade, but maybe Arya is right. She is a killjoy.

"I have a meet in White Harbor next month. Maybe we can book a few gigs around it. What do you think, Jon? You up for a weekend road trip?"

"Uh..." Jon scratches at his neck, blearily. "I mean, that's a long drive to do late at night."

"Don't worry, we'll get a hotel for the weekend!"

"What about work?"

The bell jingles at the door, and before Meera can scramble off the counter where she's been reading a comic, Catelyn Tully-Stark is inside, gazing around the space, looking deeply unimpressed. 

"Mom, uh, we were just finishing up with the decorations." Robb wobbles on the ladder, unable to hook the last end of the mobile in place, and Bran ducks behind a pile of pumpkins, trying to hide his glee.

"Robb, you should have opened the store fifteen minutes ago. How are you just now finishing the decorations?"

"Well, the gourds-" Robb starts, lamely. 

"Never mind," their mom sweeps through the space, picking up the boxes still out from stocking, tidying the magazines by the register, before turning one last critical eye on her teenage employees. Jon cups his neck as he holds the ladder with his other hand. Robb scrambles down, having finally hung the mobile correctly, rushing forward to grab the empty boxes from his mother. "Cersei Lannister is going to be here any minute. Take care of this garbage. Meera, flip the sign and Jon, take the ladder back and... splash some water on your face or something. You look like death, warmed over. Jory is coming around ten if you need to take the afternoon off." 

Jon's cheeks turn pink as he folds up the ladder beside Sansa, and she looks out the window, mortified. "Sorry Mrs. Stark, but that's unnecessary," he begins, but Catelyn waves away his protest. 

"I told you it was a lot of hours you were taking on between school, the lumberyard, and this. Just make sure you are fitting sleep into your schedule or you'll make yourself sick, dear." 

"Mom-" Sansa is so embarrassed, but the bell rings again and Cersei Lannister steps in, looking like a movie star whose only reason for stepping foot anywhere as provincial as Winter Town was because she got a flat tire while passing through. And Joffrey is with her. 

Neither of them removes their sunglasses, and Sansa notes the absence of anything resembling a flower on Ms. Lannister's clothing. Her leather joggers and black silk t-shirt, beneath a casual blazer, look so cosmopolitan and chic next to her own mother''s floral tunic and jeans that Sansa is ready to hide behind the pumpkins with Bran. 

Unfortunately, Joffrey spots her first, lowering his glasses with a grin. "Sansa, are you part of the window display?"

"Ha, no. Just helping set things up," she rises gingerly, trying not to step on the hem of her skirt, and he offers her a hand. _ So much for spending the day incognito _. "Good morning, Ms. Lannister."

Cersei and her mother make small talk, but Sansa doesn't follow the conversation. Joffrey is standing too close to her, fiddling with his car keys in a distracting way, and she is hyper-aware of Robb and Jon whispering together behind the counter. Their eyes keep darting her way, and she's suddenly sure they're laughing at her. 

"Sansa," her mom snaps her back to attention with a stern look. 

"Yes?"

"Your dress, did you make it?" Cersei asks, clearly for the second time. 

"Oh. Yes. Sort of. I altered it."

"Such talent," but Cersei's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Catelyn, I trust you'll be able to explain away my absence today. I just can't be here with Robert in town. I booked a spa weekend so I don't have to see his face."

"I understand it must be difficult. I'll explain away your absence to the ladies, though you will be missed."

"Don't worry," Cersei reaches into her Birken, handing an envelope to Catelyn. "A Lannister always pays their dues. I'll still spring for whatever the charity of the hour is. I've signed, but you'll need to fill out the details. Plus, I'm sure Ned will be thrilled to see Robert. I think my ex-husband loved _ your _husband more than he ever loved me."

Sansa peers over her mother's shoulder, at the blank check. Catelyn protests, "I doubt that-", but Cersei talks over her. 

"Joffrey's cousin is in town and the boys are already complaining there is nothing to do. Perhaps your Sansa could show them around the festival and keep them out of trouble." 

"And by trouble, she means the Spyder," Joffrey spins his car keys against his palm and Sansa smiles back, politely. She hopes he didn't name his car _ spider. _It sounds like something Rickon would come up with. 

"You know what? I think that's an excellent idea, Cersei." Her mother gives Sansa a too cheery smile. "Sansa has been attending the Harvest Festival since she was a baby. She was even the pre-teen Miss Winter Town Rose one year. She'll be the perfect escort for Joffrey." 

Jon and Robb snicker again as they whisper together behind the paint counter.

"_ Mom _…" Sansa is ready to melt into the floor. "Don't you need me at the bake sale?"

"Oh darling, you've been stuck at home with your dad and I for weeks. Go have fun with Joffrey. Here, let me get you some pocket money." 

"Don't worry, Mrs. Stark. I'll treat Sansa to whatever she wants." Joffrey smiles, holding his arm out to Sansa like some storybook prince, though, with his carefully tousled blonde hair and burgundy bomber jacket, he looks more like a model than anything. 

Her mom gives her a _ look _ , and Jon and Robb are whispering again, so Sansa grabs Joffrey's arm, tugging him gently toward the door. "Thank you. I'd _ love _a cappuccino." Anything to get away before her mom says anything more embarrassing. 

\---

She imagined Joff's cousin would be another teenager, but the gigantic guy who meets them outside the cafe looks like a grown man, and an unfriendly one at that. Half his face is marred by a burn scar, and when Sansa holds out her hand to introduce herself, he just stares back at her with cold eyes. 

"Sansa, this is the Hound. He doesn't bark much, but he does bite." Joffrey smirks. "Don't worry, though. I keep him on a tight leash." She tries to mask her discomfort as they head inside, but she can feel the man's eyes on her as he stalks behind them, and the hairs rise along her arms and neck. 

"What is his _ actual _name?" She asks, keeping her voice low. 

"Sandor. He's like my third cousin, twice removed or some shit. He's one of my dad's goons. Seriously, forget he's here. He's just like, security, or whatever while my dad is in town."

Sansa isn't sure why a senator's son needs security in Winter Town, of all places, but her misgivings are forgotten when she sees Satin behind the register and Sandor melts back against a wall. Satin waves them to the front of the line, cheerily cutting off the woman who was halfway through reciting her order. 

"Oh, my god. Don't look at me. I'm wearing a polyester polo shirt from corporate hell, and you waltz in here like Stevie Nicks' fairy goddaughter. I can't even."

"Hi Satin," she giggles. He _ does _look less himself in an apron and Tears of Lys baseball cap, but she likes the bold streak of charcoal eyeliner under his eyes. He's always pulling off looks she'd love to try if she had even an ounce more bravery. 

"We missed you last night." 

"I wish I could have been there. I'm still grounded, or at least I was." She introduces Joffrey, and Satin makes them drinks, refusing payment, as he tells them all about the show, the White Harbor promoters, and how the band still can't agree on a name. When Joffrey starts scrolling through his phone, and the woman beside them mutters about horrible service, Sansa realizes she's probably overstayed her welcome.

"For what it's worth, I like Maidenfools, but either way, I'll see you this afternoon! Thanks for the coffee!"

"Any time, Sansa. Though if you ever order a pumpkin spice latte from me, I'm telling Greyjoy that he has a chance with you."

She laughs. "Duly noted."

"Excuse me, but _ I _would like a pumpkin spice latte," the woman beside them raps her credit card against the counter, and Satin turns to her. 

"Of course, you would."

\---

"Who is Greyjoy?" Joffrey asks as they step out into the street. 

"Oh, just someone in Robb's band."

"Is he a homo too?"

"Excuse me?" Sansa almost chokes on her drink. _ Does he know about Robb? How could he? _

"That barista is a total fairy, Sansa. I'm not saying there is anything wrong with it." Joffrey shrugs and Sansa breathes again, realizing he's referring to Satin, though she's not sure how she feels about his turn of phrase. "In fact, I'd prefer if this Greyjoy was too. I don't want competition."

"Oh, um, I don't know. I haven't asked." She feels oddly on edge and her answer sounds stupid. When a rasp of laughter hits her from behind, she flinches. 

Joffrey turns to face his cousin with a sneer. "Back off, Hound. You're scaring Sansa_ . _"

"Oh, it's okay-" she starts and the older guy laughs harder. 

"Am I that fucking ugly?"

She feels terrible. "Oh, no-"

"You are." Joffrey cuts in. "Now, fuck off somewhere else. I don't want you sulking about and making my friend here uncomfortable."

Sandor shrugs and walks away, and for a moment Sansa wavers. She really should have Joffrey call him back. Her reaction to him was horribly rude, and now he's going to be alone in a strange town, but then Joffrey takes her hand with a flirty smile and he's asking her what she wants to do, and he really is quite stunning with his green eyes and perfect hair and she hasn't had any fun in _ ages. _

"I want to do, whatever _ you _ want to do," she smiles back. 

And then it's a glorious, magical day. She and Joffrey weave through the festival, hand in hand, and all her insecurities from earlier melt away. She takes him to the livestock tents and they feed the baby goats. Then, Joffrey wins her a bright pink plush unicorn that smells of plastic and stale cigarettes, and while it's all a bit silly and a bit cliche… it still feels special. 

So, when he leans in and asks, "do you want to get out of here?", she doesn't say no. 

A block off main street, he leads her to an acid green coupe. "Sansa, meet the Spyder." By the way he's looking at her, she knows to act impressed. "What do you think? My dad drove the Lambo up from King's Landing as an early birthday present for me. Pretty fucking cool, huh?"

She thinks it looks like something the Joker would drive, but that's not what Joffrey wants to hear_ . _ "It looks fast." 

\---

_ It is. _They cruise through the city, but once they hit the country highways out by their school, Joffrey brings the car to speeds not even Sansa feels comfortable with. She presses her back against the leather seat and her fingernails into the door's handle. Post Malone is rapping just a little too loud over the sound system and when Joffrey passes her a vape pen, she tries to decline, but he must not hear her because he presses it to her lips anyway, and he's looking at her when he should be looking at the road, so she inhales. 

_ It's not a big deal. _

But soon she's feeling lightheaded and when Joffrey swings into the wrong lane around a bend and has to swerve hard to avoid a tractor, her stomach turns.

"We should go to Winterfell!" he yells over the music. 

"What?" Her tongue is dry and thick, and she suspects it was more than tobacco that Joff pushed on her. 

"Yeah, let's go to Winterfell. My dad said he used to get wasted there with your dad and piss off the ramparts. We should go."

She doesn't want to go to Winterfell with Joffrey. She doesn't want to go _ anywhere _ with him; she realizes too late. "We can't. It's all locked up, and I should really get back to the festival. Robb's band is going to play soon."

"So? Who cares about your brother's nerdy little garage band. I'll take you to a real concert. Say the word, and I'll charter a plane down to King's Landing. The Weeknd is playing there next month."

He's staring at her again, but their speed is increasing, and Sansa's temple throbs. "Joff-"

"Come on. It'll be fun. We gotta get you out of this place."

"Joffrey!" They're speeding towards the railroad crossing. "There's a train coming!"

His eyes whip back to the road, but instead of slowing down, the car lunges forward at an impossible pace. Sansa closes her eyes but the blare of the alternating horns and whistle barrel down on them, too close. It's cacophonous as the tracks jolt beneath their seats, and then they're on the other side, the angry bleat of the train receding behind them. 

"_ Fuck! _" Joff yells out his window, before turning back to her with a wild grin. 

She feels sick. "Joffrey, let's go back." Her voice sounds as strained and pathetic as she feels, and he sighs back at her, contempt washing over his handsome face. 

"Fine." He turns around, and though he's still going at least twenty over the speed limit, at least he keeps the music down and doesn't take the vape pen out again. She should probably say something, but she's too anxious. When he parks on a side street and offers her a hand out of the car, he's smiling once more. 

"You're safe with me, Sansa," he says, and maybe she _ was _ overreacting. He buys them each a bottle of water and a pretzel, and she feels much better as they stroll behind the carnival rides. Joffrey is all charm again, and she considers his earlier invitation. _ She does like the Weeknd _... and the idea of chartering a flight, just to see a concert, sounds thrilling. 

"What's that sound?" Joff asks. 

There's noise coming from behind the dumpsters up ahead; a kind of wooden clattering. 

"I don't know. Let's just walk this way," she tugs at his arm, but he ignores her, pulling towards the sound. As he turns around the nearest bin, he's almost blindsided by a skateboarder. 

"Watch the fuck out!" Joffrey yells, and with a feeling of dread, Sansa realizes it's Arya. Her sister just raises her middle finger in the air, not even bothering to look at them as she makes a wide loop back towards a makeshift ramp that's been set up. Mycah stands at the top, poised to descend, and again, Sansa tries to pull Joff away. 

"Come on. It's just some skateboarders."

"Fucking trash, is what they are. There's no way this is allowed."

"Well, I'm sure a cop will tell them to disperse, eventually. Let's leave."

But he just stands there, staring up at Mycah, with furious eyes. When the wheels of Mycah's board hit the plywood, Joffrey raises his water bottle up, and for half a moment Sansa doesn't understand, but then she does, and it's too late. 

She watches helplessly as Joffrey drops the almost full bottle in front of Mycah's board. 

The wheels hit and Arya's best friend flies forward, landing with a horrible thud on the concrete before Sansa. Blood blossoms beneath his face and she's frozen, even as everything else happens at once. 

Suddenly, Arya is bristling in Joffrey's face and they're both screaming obscenities at each other. Joffrey is saying terrible, filthy words and Mycah is still lying on the ground, and Arya is waving her skateboard in the air, her face blazing with fury. 

"_ Stop it! Stop it, both of you! _" Sansa finds her voice at last, but it doesn't matter. No one is listening, and when Joffrey lurches forward, twisting Arya's wrist, her sister slams her board down across his head with a sickening crack. 

"_ Arya! No _!" Sansa screams, but her sister has already turned away to help Mycah, who is rising from the ground, blood pouring from what looks to be a broken nose. 

Joffrey is bent over on his knees, bloody as well, but when Sansa places a hand, tenderly, at his shoulder, he looks up at her, and there is nothing but acid in his eyes. "_ Don't touch me _!"

"Oh, Joffrey! I can't believe she did that," she sobs, looking up, but her sister and Mycah have disappeared, leaving only a busted skateboard and smear of blood across the concrete where they were. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's baaaaack!
> 
> I can't believe I haven't updated this story since September! BAH!
> 
> And of course, I return with so much drama... not going to lie, the second half of this chapter was super nerve-wracking to write, so I'm very, very curious to see what ya'll think. I'm very excited about the next chapter, and already have some of it written, so I promise I won't wait so long to update! (And I mean it this time) 
> 
> I really never meant to be away from this story for so long. I love writing it so much. 
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely comments in the last chapter too! I think I missed responding to a few, so I'll try and circle back in the next day or so. Your comments give me life!
> 
> I wish everyone a safe and happy holiday season!


	21. Jon

When Jon Snow's alarm goes off on Saturday morning, it doesn't quite wake him up because one cannot wake when one didn't ever fall asleep in the first place. He slips out from under Ygritte's arm, and immediately trips over Theon, or Pyp, or whichever shitty excuse for a friend is passed out on his bedroom floor. He doesn't feel great. 

When he finds his box of Frosted Flakes sitting empty among a smattering of beer cans, shot glasses, and his open quart of room temperature milk, it feels like the worst moment of his life. It objectively isn't... but _ still. _

When he drives to work and remembers it's the harvest festival, he feels even worse. 

When Catelyn Stark looks at him like he's the piece of hungover garbage that he is, and then calls him out on it, he's just about ready to give up on life. 

Of course, it's in front of Sansa. 

Of course, _ she _looks like she just came from a garden party with the queen. 

Of course, a moment later some blonde jerk in Ray-Bans swoops in to flirt with her right in front of him. 

_It's fine. _They look great together. Tall and pretty and… _Fuck._ _No.._

_ It's not fine. The guy looks like a douchebag. _

"Blah, Joffrey," Robb mutters beside him as he updates the register.

"Who's that?"

"Just another kid from Casterly Rock who thinks having rich parents is a personality trait." 

Jon snorts into his coffee. "I thought that was every kid at Casterly Rock."

Robb flicks him with a rubber band. "Uncalled for. My parents aren't rich. My grandparents were. Their squandering of the family fortunes is _ my _personality trait." 

And just like that, Jon feels infinitesimally better. He leans against the counter with Robb, feeling the caffeine buzz through his veins as they snark about the prick flirting with Sansa. When Joffrey swings his keys in her face yet again and mentions the Spyder, Robb leans into Jon's shoulder, stifling his laughter. 

"There is _ no _way Sansa knows what the heck a Lamborghini Spyder is. Half the time, she can't pick our own car out in the parking lot. She just walks up to the first white SUV she finds." 

"What a tool," Jon says, but _ seven hells… he drives a fucking Lamborghini? _ There's no use competing with _ that. _ Cat is suddenly suggesting that Sansa spend the day with him, and he's offering his arm to her, all chivalrous and shit, and Jon forces himself to look away. _ You have a girlfriend, you asshole. _

_ You are the tool. _

When Sansa leaves with Joffrey_ , _ followed closely by his posh mom, Jon's hangover returns in full. 

"Mom, you do remember that Joff threw the party that you grounded Sansa for, right?"

"Sansa isn't grounded for going to a party. She's grounded for lying about going to a party and then making a series of poor decisions that led to her very spectacularly getting caught in that lie." Catelyn sighs as she fusses with the window display. "I highly doubt Joffrey forced too much alcohol down her throat. _ He _didn't come in here this morning with a wrinkled shirt or a hangover." Her eyes pause first on her son and then, regrettably, on Jon. 

He's about to lose his job. 

Robb protests. "I'll eat dirt before I believe Joffrey Baratheon has ever so much as seen an iron, Mom." 

Jon stays silent, but Catelyn doesn't let him off that easily. "Will your mother be at the show this afternoon, Jon?" 

_ Fuck. _"No, she can't make it."

"Oh. Well, I'd love to meet her sometime."

Jon has nothing to say. If he tells her that his mom works a lot, she'll only ask where, and he doesn't want to lie to Catelyn Stark. She's not the type to fall for his bullshit. 

"Don't look so terrified." She stands up, brushing off her jeans. "I'd tell her you're doing a fine job. You've really impressed Ned with the work you're doing at the lumberyard, and Sansa hasn't cried over precalculus in weeks."

_ Oh. _Not what he was expecting, but he'll take it.

"Come on Bran, stop bothering Meera. Your father is expecting you at the hospitality tent. Help out for a couple of hours and then you and Jojen are free to wander. Robb, call me if the store gets too busy and you need help." 

\---

The store gets busy. By the time Jory shows up, Jon wants to crawl under the table in the break room and maybe die. Robb finds him where he's sweeping up bird seed a customer spilled in aisle three. 

"Why don't you get out of here. You guys must have hit it hard after I left last night, huh?" 

"Eh, no more than any Friday." In addition to everything else chipping away at him, Jon feels a niggling of guilt at Robb's question. Seeing as he hasn't invited _ anyone _over to his place since his mom left town, he shouldn't feel bad for not cluing Robb into the after-party there. 

It wasn't _ his _party. It was Slynt's.

Not that the rest of his friends were splitting hairs on the matter. They've had no problem coming over and making themselves at home each weekend. While Jon's a bit surly about it, if they didn't come over, he'd be stuck with Janos Slynt and his creepy friends all the time. _ Misery loves company, right? _

But Robb is different. Robb doesn't know just how jacked his living situation is, and Jon doesn't want him to. If Robb finds out, Mr. and Mrs. Stark might find out, and it could cause problems with his job or school. If Robb finds out, he'll see Jon differently. If Robb finds out, Sansa will see him differently. 

It shouldn't matter, but it does. "I can finish my shift. I'm fine." 

"Yeah, well, you could finish your shift, but then you'd be useless at our show, and that's more important to me."

"Robb Stark, are you using me?" Jon feigns outrage.

"I mean, I feel like I've been pretty clear about that, dude…" 

Robb's smile is annoyingly infectious, and Jon tosses the broom at him. "Fine. But I'm only leaving early to do _ you _ a favor. I don't want to fuck up your dreams of rock stardom or anything." 

"That's very generous of you. Now go inject a pot of coffee into your veins or whatever you need to do to remember your chords in a few hours." 

"Hey, I'm not the one who came in a bar late for the opening song last night."

"Ugh! Don't remind me. I was nervous."

\--- 

As Jon's walking out the door, Robb calls to him again. "Snow, you want to sleep over tonight?"

_ At Robb's house? Where Catelyn Stark probably changes the sheets once a week, and the pantry is stocked, and the coffee table is clear of drug paraphernalia, and they have family dinners and a dog and... _

"Er, like, if you've got plans, it's cool. I just thought we could rent _ The Long Night _ or something. Bran and Arya aren't supposed to watch R movies yet, and Sansa refuses anything scary."

"Um, yeah, no. That sounds great. I'm in." 

Outside, the street is teeming with people and the sun is so bright that Jon has to practically press his face against the glass of the coffee shop to see inside. Of course it's packed, with nowhere to sit, and the line is too long for him to contemplate waiting just to eat an overpriced muffin standing up. He needs to be _ not _standing up. 

He needs to be _ not _ thinking about sleeping in the same house as Sansa Stark in a few hours.

When he passes the alley, Val's cafe racer is parked outside the Flea and he remembers her jacket that's been sitting in his car for weeks. 

It takes several rounds of pounding on the door for Val to open up; her face a snarl. "We're not open yet, motherfuck — _ oh _, Snow. Come in."

He follows her inside; the cool, dark interior an immediate relief to his overtaxed senses. She's wearing thick-rimmed glasses, an oversized button down shirt, and a messy bun on top of her head, and he's never seen her looking so… domestic. The bar is a mess, with bottles littered across its surface. 

"I'm doing inventory before the harvest festival crowd comes in and obliterates my stock. You better stay clear tonight, Snow. All your friends' dads are going to be here, reliving their glory days. Edd's under strict orders to actually do his job for once." She ducks behind the bar, clearing a bit of space for him to sit. 

"Excited to be hit on by a bunch of middle-aged bald dudes?"

"Because being harassed by minors who don't tip appropriately is so much better_ . _" The way Val's looking at him, Jon is suddenly sure she knows every pervy thought he's ever entertained about her. 

"I got your jacket back." he slides the pretty paper bag across the bar, suddenly eager to change the subject. 

"Took you long enough, but ooh... so fancy." When she lifts her jacket out, a card and a pouch of lavender-scented disinfectant wipes slip out as well. "What's this, then?" she asks, reading, her eyes narrowing. She hands the card back to Jon with a perfectly arched brow. 

_ Hi, _

_ Thank you for letting me borrow your jacket and I'm really sorry for the interruption! I included something a little 'extra' for the next time you find yourself in the mood with no better accommodations at hand ;) _

~Sansa

"Why would I need disinfectant? In the mood for what?" Val is glaring at him and Jon can feel his face flaming. "Who does she think I am, Jon Snow? And what is the interruption she's talking about?"

"Um… well, you know. She was really drunk that night. She must have thought this was Ygritte's," he hedges, and before he can escape, Val is ducking under the widow maker, swatting at him with a bar towel. 

"Were you hooking up with your girlfriend in my bathroom?"

"Not successfully."

"Ugh! You gross, disgusting teenager. You know, sometimes I forget you are seventeen, and then you do things like this and I think, 'oh yeah, he's a little hornball shithead who'd be dumb enough to get it on in _ my _ bathroom."

"Ah, okay! Stop hitting me." He throws a stool out between them to stop her advance. "It won't happen again."

"You're damn straight it won't happen again. Have a little class, Snow. If you want to hook up in a lavatory, find one in the lobby of a fancy hotel or something. Mine is _ off-limits _! It's little antics like yours that cause me to keep getting fined for people pissing in the alleyway."

"Well… I can hardly take the blame for all of that." Jon laughs.

"Well, guess what you little smart-ass?" She grabs the package of wipes and tosses it at him. "You're the dummy standing in front of me. So you get the blame and you get the punishment. Go clean the bathroom."

"I don't even work here." 

"Don't care. Get to it, Snow. Be happy I'm not having you wash down the wall outside." 

Obediently, he turns down the hallway before she can change her mind. 

"The rest of the cleaning supplies are in the back!" 

"I know where they are!" 

A half hour later, the bathroom is as clean as it's going to get, but still pretty disgusting. 

"You know, if you just slapped on some fresh paint, maybe changed out the faucet or something, it wouldn't be quite so bad in there." Jon eases back onto his stool. "I could pick some stuff up for you from the hardware store."

"Oh, you want me to make it more welcoming? Maybe entice some other teenagers, with slightly higher standards, to use it as a hook-up spot?" 

Jon drops his head in his hands. "I told you… it won't happen again."

Val pats his shoulder. "I know, I know. Now, come get some lunch with me." 

The diner around the corner is just as packed as everywhere else, but Val is friends with Mance and he practically pushes a young couple out the door, clearing their empty plates and waving the check in their faces. "This isn't the parlor at your Nana's old folks' home. If you're done buying and you're done eating, find somewhere else to wait for her to die." He winks at Val, but scowls when his dark eyes land on Jon. "Well if it isn't one of the miscreants who like to hog my booths at night and order one side of fries for a table of ten. Is it even safe for you to be out in the light of day? You're not going to burst into flames if the sunlight hits you? I don't have time to mop your remains off my checkered floor."

"He has a point, Snow. You look like shit," Val suddenly lurches forward, pulling Jon's sleeve back to his elbow. 

"Seven hells," he pulls away. "Are you looking for track marks?"

"Well, I didn't think your self-destructive streak was that long, but I wouldn't put it past some of your friends... and you really do look awful."

"I'm not a junkie. _ Fuck. _ I just need to sleep." _ For a day… or five. _

"Then sleep," she hooks her glasses into the vee of her shirt as she flips open her menu. "But first, let's eat." Of course, she orders a ridiculous amount of food. Jon gets a coffee and a side of fries. 

"Well, credit to the drunk girl. My jacket feels amazing.I think she conditioned it." She's running her fingers up and down the sleeve and Jon fights the impulse to bat at the fringe. 

"Her name is Sansa."

"Oh, right. Well, _ Sansa _ seems to know how to take care of things." He doesn't trust Val's wicked grin. "Despite her rather poor first showing, she's welcome back, anytime."

Jon shrugs noncommittally, eyeing the plates of food Mance is setting down before them; bacon, eggs, pancakes, hash browns, a bowl of wet fruit, a slice of lemon meringue pie and a plate of biscuits and gravy. "I'm not sure she'll be coming back to the Flea. I don't think it's her style." Absently, he wonders what Val's style was like in high school. It's impossible to picture her as a teenager. She's too... Val. She probably ate teenage boys for breakfast. 

"We shall see. Now eat up." She starts shoving the plates his way, and he groans, pushing back. 

"Val, you don't have to buy me food."

"Obviously, but I'm not eating all of this myself, and you clearly can't be trusted to make good choices about what to put in your body."

"Says the woman who serves alcohol to underage kids."

"If I didn't make space for all you misfits and weirdos to listen to rock bands a couple nights a week, where would you go? The multiplex? I think not."

"So, I'm to believe that the Flea is meant to be a wholesome establishment for the poor, disenfranchised youth of Winter Town?"

"I guarantee it's more wholesome than whatever hole you crawled into after you left last night. You little delinquents stop by once a week, feed your need for punk rock and rebellion, and I sleep easier at night once I've made sure each of you still has ten fingers and life behind your eyes."

"That's not really your responsibility."

She stares at him, her glasses in place once more, sliding down the narrow bridge of her nose. It's like she can see him, and he finds that for once, he doesn't really mind. He could tell her, he thinks, about his mom and her illness… about Lyanna leaving him. He thinks Val might actually get it, and not in the way his friends do, where they think what his mom sucks but at least he's free from all the crazy shit she put him through. 

While that is part of it, Val might understand the other part… the part where his mom sucks, but _ she's still his mom. _She's unreliable and flaky, and sometimes she scares the shit out of him, but maybe he still needs her. Maybe he's not actually ready to be free. 

Maybe… it sucks _ more _ to be on your own. 

But he can't start that conversation here. Not in Mance's, in the light of day, surrounded by a bunch of jolly festival-goers. Not when he's overtired and overworked and in danger of losing all his street-cred if he opens his mouth and can't close it again when he spills all his pathetic problems to Val. 

She must see that too, because she shrugs, casually, and says, "Well, you know, it takes a village or whatever."

It'd be easy to dismiss Val; to dismiss the idea that she's part of any village, in the child-rearing sense. But maybe she is. While she's definitely breaking the law letting teenagers into her bar, she rarely lets her underage patrons have more than a beer or two a night, and even then, it's only the oldest kids… the ones brave enough to approach the bar. Val is gorgeous and intimidating as fuck, and she doesn't let any teenager get as smashed at the Flea as they've been getting at Jon's house the last few weekends. 

It's become clear to him that Ygritte's "house-warming" party a few weekends ago only served as a proof-of-concept to everyone that Jon and Janos Slynt's house is the perfect spot to get fucked up. No parents, no cops (thanks to Aliser-Fucking-Thorne), and an easy supply of drugs and alcohol. Everyone wins. 

Except Jon… who is losing his fucking mind. Maybe he'll have to learn to live without that too.

He slides the biscuits and gravy over and they are fucking delicious. Soon, his stomach is as pleasantly full as the diner, and Val is telling him about the summer she spent on Skaagos at some hippie commune, and he's trying to imagine the woman in front of him wearing a peasant top with flowers in her hair. It's not an unpleasant image he conjures, but his thoughts slide to Sansa, wandering through the field of wildflowers behind Winterfell's walls. She'd look lovely in a flower crown...

He's jolted out of his reverie by a voice calling his name from across the busy diner. "Jon!"

"_ Shit. _ No, no, no, no," Jon slouches over his plate, but there's nothing he can do. He's been spotted, and no crush of middle-schoolers shouting for milkshakes is going to keep Davos Seaworth from bearing down on Jon.

"What's wrong?" Val asks between bites of bacon. 

"It's just my guidance counselor. He's going to hound me about this fucking essay contest my friend Sam entered me in." Jon is desperate for an escape. "I can't. I just can't, Val." 

But it's too late. Mr. Seaworth is bobbing in front of him, a wide smile on his stupidly cheery face as he claps a hand down on Jon's shoulder. "Jon Snow! It's wonderful to see you out enjoying the festival. And is this lovely woman your mother? I've been so eager to meet you Ms.-"

Val clasps the collar of her shirt in offence. "Excuse me, but I am not _ nearly _ old enough to be his mother." 

Though Jon is pretty sure she's not far off; maybe only a few years younger than Lyanna… who, admittedly, proved she wasn't nearly old enough to be anyone's mother. _ Blah. _

"Oh, my sincerest apologies. Well young man, I've been trying to get ahold of your mom about the honors convocation…" Jon catches Val's eye and she's giving him a questioning look, but he shakes his head. "It seems the voicemail on your house phone has been disconnected, and the cell phone number we have on file is also out-of-date. If you can just give me the correct one, I'd love to have a chat with her. I know you declined the invitation, but it's a pretty big deal that you are a finalist for the Collegiate Essay Scholarship. Even third place could pay for an entire year's tuition at North State. It's an achievement worth celebrating." 

Except Jon had nothing to do with it. He may have written the essay, for an assignment _ last year _, but Sam submitted it to the competition without telling him… and Jon isn't going to college; not yet. Probably not for a long time. And he can't even use the scholarship money to pay off debt, so it's all totally useless. 

Plus, Lyanna isn't attending any honors dinner. She's not even in the country. But he can't tell the school that, either. Just as Davos stops talking, and he and Val are both staring at Jon like he's a fucking crystal ball or something, his phone vibrates on the counter, and he's saved by Robb. 

"Sorry Mr. Seaworth, I've gotta take this. It's my manager."

Jon ducks out of the diner before the man can protest, cradling the phone to his ear. "Hey, I'm just finishing lunch, then I'll be over to help set up for the gig." 

"Um, well, about that…" The parade is going by, and Jon can barely make out Robb's rapid-fire explanation. He's saying something about Arya and that twat Joffrey, which makes little sense because _ wasn't he with Sansa? _ Robb's going to be late to the gig now, and Jon is further distracted by Davos chatting up Val through the window. _ Did he just hand her a business card? _

"My dad is going to call my mom if Arya doesn't turn up soon, and then hell is going to break loose and of course, Sansa is too busy sobbing her eyes out to be any help at all."

"Wait, what? Is Sansa okay?" 

"It's hard to say. At least she's not the one bleeding all over the break room. Anyway, can you just let the guys know I'm going to be late... and if things don't turn around, I might even miss the show."

"Uh, yeah... but do you need help? Should I come back to the store?" 

"Nah, we've already closed up. We just need to find Arya. My sisters-"

The line goes dead and Jon just stares at his screen for a moment, still not really registering the conversation, but the thought of Sansa crying eats him up. It has to be that asshole with the Laborghini's fault. 

Davos catches him as he heads back into the diner. "Had a lovely chat with your aunt, Jon. Wonderful woman. Really. So glad I bumped into you two. Stop by my office on Monday. We'll pick an excerpt for you to read at the convocation." And then he's gone, swept up in the crowd before Jon can correct him. Val is grinning over her coffee cup, like an evil twin, when he joins her. 

"What did you do?"

"I just agreed to be your plus one at some fancy dinner. Sounds like someone is a guest of honor. Color me impressed, Jon Snow."

"Val-"

"No. Don't even try to stop this. It's already settled."

She doesn't look remotely sorry for whatever lie she told Davos, and Jon wonders how much she has already guessed about his home life. The woman is unbelievable. But he doesn't have time to argue with her now; not with Arya missing and Sansa crying and their show at the coffee shop coming up. He pulls out his wallet, but Val pushes that away too, and it's all too much. "At least let me tip!"

"No, get out of here. Save your money for some new threads. I like to be dined in style, so get thee to the thrift store and maybe the barber, Jon Snow." She winks. "Otherwise, you'll be drowning in Torm's one and only suit, and I promise you he has not had it cleaned since he poured a stein of beer all over himself at Osha's wedding last year. Maybe that _ Sansa _ could help you find something. She looked like she had taste." 

"I hate you." But he's too tired to sound convincing, and when she pats his cheek, he can feel the heat of his embarrassment beneath her fingertips. It's not an altogether unpleasant feeling. 

"Seriously, get some sleep tonight." 

"Will do, _ Auntie._" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a Jon POV has gotten away from me and I found myself 4000 words in without even getting to half the plot points I intended. 
> 
> So... I've split Jon's part in two. We'll have to wait a bit longer for the fallout from Trident 2.0, but I promise more Jonsa and a Stark sleepover coming soooon. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading my digression in the diner as much as I enjoyed writing it. I just love Val.
> 
> I probably need to edit this baby up a bit more, but I'll try and get to it this week.
> 
> Happy holidays everyone!


	22. Jon

On a hunch, Jon calls Gendry. 

"Hey Jon, what's up?"

"Can I speak to Arya?"

"Sure, here she is- _ Ow! What was that for?" _ There's a muffled argument, and then Gendry asks, "Wait, how d'you know I'm with Ary- _ Ow- _I mean, why would Arya be with me?"

"Gods, just put her on." 

More arguing, and then, "How did you know where I was?" 

"Wild guess. Your family is looking for you."

She meets him, alone, at the fun house, hands stuffed in her pockets, her hoodie tight around her face. He waits while she runs inside to grab her stuff, including her phone, which she left behind in her haste to get Mycah home to his mom; a nurse. Gendry had already been on his way to meet up, so they had jumped in the back of his car, in a rush of adrenaline, not thinking about what came next.

Now, Arya may be thinking _ too _ hard about it. Her face is pinched and pale, and she can hardly look him in the eye. Part of Jon wants to tell her it's not her fault; that everything is going to be fine. But in his experience, that isn't how shit like this turns out.

Instead, he shoulders her bag as they walk in silence toward the hardware store. When they see a police car parked out front, lights on, he wraps an arm around her, steering them down the alley instead, so they can enter the store through the back, where Robb meets them, eyes round. 

"Seven hells, Ayra! What did you _ do? _"

But she just shoves her way past, elbows out, and Jon follows with a whispered, "don't be a dick," to Robb. 

"I wasn't," Robb grumbles behind him. "But _ dude_, Joffrey's head is bandaged like he just had brain surgery, and there is a _ cop _outside."

"We know."

"Where is dad?" Arya says, twisting. 

Her face is a storm, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes, her brows and mouth screwed into angry defiance. Jon wants to tell her to cool down; that being hostile is only going to make it worse, but he doesn't think she's in a place to listen. He's never been one to accept advice when it was his back against the wall. 

"Arya," Mr. Stark's voice rings down the narrow hall, and Jon watches him come to them, his boots loud against the linoleum. Arya turns toward him with a sob, and he takes her in his arms. 

"I'm sorry," she cries, "_ I'm sorry, I'm sorry. _"

"I know," Mr. Stark sighs, holding her tight. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

"And Mycah?"

"Home with a bloody nose, and he's scraped up pretty bad. His mom says he can't skateboard anymore."

"Well, that seems reasonable." The bell at the front of the store rings, and Ned straightens before sweeping the hood from Arya's head and ruffling her wild hair. "Jon," he extends his hand. "Thank you, son. That was quick thinking to call her friends." He frowns at Robb. 

"Well, _ he _goes to school with them. Why would I have their numbers? Now, can we go?"

But Jon isn't ready. None of this is any of his business, but it would be weird to leave now. Leave Arya to her fate, and Sansa... he hasn't even seen her yet. _ Is she here? Is she okay? _

"Ned," a voice booms from the front. "I've dealt with the sheriff. Told him this was a family matter."

"_Dad! _ " a voice whines from the break room, and Arya goes stiff. _ Joffrey. _If Arya hadn't beaten him to it, Jon wouldn't mind knocking the jerk's skull around himself. Sure, he has no reason to... but that guy makes him want to punch something. 

"Shut your mouth, boy." A gigantic man appears from the front of the store, the top of his head skims the Exit sign hanging from the ceiling, and his body takes up the width of the narrow hall. "Do you really want the whole world to know you got your ass handed to you by a little girl?"

"Robert," Ned says, and the man looks over. He's handsome, in a gone-to-seed kind of way, with close cropped black hair and a massive neck straining at his dress shirt collar. 

"Sorry, Ned. Is the little she-wolf of yours here?"

Mr. Stark nods, leading Arya to the office across from the small break room. There, Joffrey sits at the card table, his hands propping up his bandaged head, glaring at his father. 

"Will someone explain to me how the girl the size of a wet rat sent you sobbing to daddy," says a rough-looking guy, leaning against the counter, cracking his knuckles. A nasty scar covers half his face; the rough, red tissue stretching hideously when he smiles.

"Shut up, Clegane," Robert says, "As I said, this is a family matter. Go wait in the car." 

"_Dad_," Joffrey tries to protest, but Robert just points at the door, and the scarred man stalks out. 

"Joff, get inside and explain yourself. Ned and I have already wasted enough of our day on this nonsense." 

As they file into the office, Robb tries once more to get his dad's attention. "So, can Jon and I go? We've got to-" But the door shuts in his face. "Let's just leave," he nudges Jon. 

"I left my guitar in the office." 

"Well, shit."

They slump at the table, eyes roving from the wall clock to the office door, and back to each other. 

"Where's Sansa?" 

"Up front, with Meera." 

He shouldn't have asked. Now, he itches to find her... but he has no reason to. _ It'd be weird, right? _Instead, his knee bounces beneath him, rattling the table, until Robb kicks his shoe. 

"Shh... I'm trying to listen."

While they can hear the conversation through the thin walls, it's hard to make out the words until Arya yells out. 

"Liar!"

"Shut up!" screams Joffrey. 

"_Enough!" _Robert roars, and Jon flinches; trying to hide it by getting to his feet and pacing. A moment later, the door opens, and Ned emerges. 

"Can one of you get Sansa?"

"Sure," Jon's already on his feet. It only makes sense for him to go. When he opens the door to the front, he's surprised to see a group of strangers milling about. A few men in suits and a woman whispering into a cell phone about a "change in the senator's itinerary". Jory is at his bench, ignoring them all, his headphones over his ears as he takes apart a weed wacker and Jon taps the counter to get his attention. 

"That guy in there is a _ senator?_"

"Yep."

"He looks like a retired lineman." _ Red in the face and the size of a barge. _

"He played football in college. That's where he met Ned. They were roommates at the Eyrie." 

Every time Jon relaxes around the Starks, he's reminded that they're on another level. Of course Robert could just send the cops away. He's a fucking senator. When Jon prank called _ 911 _with his friends in middle school, and Lyanna tried to explain that it was a dumb mistake, the policeman brushed right by her, making Jon, Pyp, and Theon all sit in the back of his squad car in handcuffs, while he lectured them about the dangers of going down the wrong path. 

_ Once you're on that train, you can't just hop off. You hear me? Those tracks don't magically switch, and then it's only a matter of time before you're dead or behind bars. You hear me? You hear me? Call me sir… see, I think it's already too late for you three… Fifteen years on the force. I can see these things from a mile away. _

And then he dated Jon's mom, off-and-on, for the next four years.

_ Alliser Fucking Thorne. _

Jon shakes off the memory when he sees Sansa sitting on the check-out counter, talking quietly with Meera. Her back is turned, but the afternoon sun is slanting in from the window, setting her hair ablaze. 

When he calls her name, she looks back at him before quickly turning away. 

"Um, your dad wants you in the office." 

"Okay," she sniffs, hopping down from the table and rushing past him, her face averted, before he can say anything else. Still, It's obvious she's been crying, and it's not at all how he expected her to look. Not that he ever pictured her crying, but if he did, he's certain that this splotchy, red-nosed girl with swollen, puffy eyes would not be it. 

"Did Arya show up?" Meera asks.

"Yeah. She didn't have her phone on her."

"_Of course,_" Meera says, dripping sarcasm, but Jon isn't in the mood for her _ teenagers are so dramatic and dumb _ routine. _ They are_. But she's a fucking teenager too, even if she acts above it most of the time. 

So, he turns around, catching up to Sansa just as she steps into the office, her trembling hand hesitating at the door before closing it behind her. 

"Dacey and Gendry are setting up without us," Robb looks down at his phone. "Satin says as long as we can get there in twenty minutes, we should be fine."

Jon concentrates on the sound of Sansa's soft voice behind the door, responding to her father's measured tone. Based on what Arya told him, it seems pretty clear Joffrey is a violent asshole who could have seriously injured Mycah. But Jon is no stranger to injustice, and without the actual victim present, he's not sure if her word will be enough. 

"_You're rotten!" _ Arya shrieks, and there is more commotion; chairs scraping, bodies moving, and over it all Arya yelling. "_Liar, liar, liar_!"

"Arya, _ stop it!" _ It's the first that Ned Stark has raised his voice, and everything goes quiet. _ What did Sansa say? _ Jon can't imagine her defending Joffrey. She wouldn't, _ would she? _Ned and Robert speak, and when the door opens, Senator Baratheon leads Joffrey out, his meaty hand on the back of his son's neck. 

"Ned, see that your daughter is disciplined. I will do the same with my son."

"What?" Joffrey turns, glaring. "_I'm _the victim! This is ridiculous. If mom were here-"

"Shut up!" Robert swats at Joffrey's head, right over the bandage, and Jon grits his teeth. "It's clear to _ me _ the effect of your mother's parenting on you, you spoiled brat. Ned, can believe how soft kids are these days?"

But Ned is still in the office, talking to the girls, and the senator doesn't wait for a response. "Look, if I hear you went crying to Cersei over this, I'm taking the Lamborghini away. Do you understand? Be a _ man. _ That girl inside has bigger balls than you." He winks at Jon and Robb, as he pushes Joffrey through the door to the front of the store.

Robb chuckles, but Jon feels something hot beneath his skin. _ I will not feel bad for Joffrey. Fuck that. _

A moment later, Mr. Stark and the sisters emerge. There are fresh tears in both girls' eyes, and once again, Sansa turns away when she sees Jon, wiping furiously at her cheeks. He shouldn't be here. It _ is _weird. 

"Alright," Mr. Stark sighs, leaning in the doorway. "That could have been a lot worse. Let's remember that." He gives Arya a pointed look, and she nods, eyes sliding toward the floor. "Now, I think it's in everyone's interest, that we keep this matter quiet from mom, yeah?"

"Really?" Arya's face lights up, eyes wide. "We can do that? We can _ not _ tell her?"

Robb and Sansa look equally incredulous, but Jon senses that where the other two siblings like the idea, Sansa does not. 

"Look, your mom has a lot on her plate right now. And I think we can give her a break on this one, okay? Jon, thanks again for finding Arya. You boys can get to your gig now. I'm sorry we kept you waiting. Arya, you head straight home."

"But dad, what about Robb's show?" she asks, and Mr. Stark presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. 

"Seriously?" Sansa speaks up, glaring at her sister. "You think he's going to let you see a show, after _ you ruined everything? _"

"After _ I _ ruined everything? You're the one who _ lied!_"

"Girls! _ Enough. _" Mr. Stark doesn't raise his voice, but everyone goes quiet. "Sansa, I can speak for myself, thank you. I don't need you to enforce the law."

"Sorry dad." Though she doesn't look it, with her arms crossed and her lips bloodless from how hard she's pressing them together. 

"And Arya... _ of course _ you aren't going. In fact, it's going to be some time before you see _ any shows_." 

"So, I'm still grounded?"

"We'll talk about this later. Even if your version of events is one hundred percent the truth of the matter, it was _ not _ okay to attack someone like that, Arya. You understand that, right?"

"Of course she doesn't," Sansa mutters, brushing by her sister and out the front door before anyone can stop her. Robb shares a look with his dad and follows, leaving Jon awkwardly leaning against the wall. He'd slink away as well, but Mr. Stark still stands between him and his guitar, and Arya shoots him a look that practically screams _ don't leave me. _

"Joffrey lied. It wasn't the way he said. I hate Sansa. She remembers. She just lied so Joffrey would like her."

"We all lie," Ned says. "Or did you truly think I'd believe Hullen told you and Mycah you could set up a skate ramp behind the dumpsters?"

"I guess not," she mumbles. 

"Sansa is your sister. The only one you'll ever have. You two couldn't be more different, but I know what that's like. Your Uncle Brandon was everything I wasn't. Often it felt like he was _more_ than I could ever be. He was smart, athletic, good-looking and charismatic, and nothing seemed to touch him. I felt like I was in his shadow; watching him sail through the things I struggled with. Consequences never stuck to him, and everything came easy. Does this sound familiar?"

"Maybe."

"Well, a lot of that was an illusion. Brandon struggled plenty, and in the end his struggles were a lot harder to overcome than mine ever were. As the oldest, he did a lot for Benjen and I, but I just didn't notice until it was almost too late. And now, well... I'd cut off my arm to bring him back."

"Gods, Dad, way to bring up Uncle Brandon to make me feel even worse," Arya's voice catches somewhere between a laugh and a sob, fresh tears running down her cheeks, and Ned pulls her into a hug. 

"Well, did it work?" he whispers.

"Kind of. I don't hate Sansa," she admits, voice muffled in her dad's shirt. "Not really."

"Good. That's all I ask. Now run along, and straight home. I'll drive you to Mycah's tomorrow to check in."

After she disappears, Ned's eyes find Jon, who is doing his best to melt into the wall.

"Was it too much?" 

"Excuse me," Jon looks around, confirming that the question was indeed addressed to him.

"The dead uncle bit. Was it too much?"

"I…" How would Jon know? As an only child with a terrible parent, as far as he's concerned, Ned Stark just conducted a masterclass. If Lyanna could manage one tenth of that interaction without breaking into tears and claiming she was the real victim, Jon would keel over from the shock. It would be an understatement to say she didn't handle conflict or discipline well. 

"I'm sorry, Jon. That was a completely inappropriate question." Mr. Stark rubs his hands tiredly over his face. "It's just this whole parenting thing... every time you think you have a handle on it, everything changes, and once again you have no clue what you're doing." He seems to talk mostly to himself, so Jon says nothing. "And, I'm aware that you're a captive audience. I'm guessing that's your guitar in the office?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"I'm the one who should apologize to you. I probably owe you a raise after making you sit through all the Stark family chaos. Quick, make your escape, before you miss your show and I have another child in tears. Robb can be worse than the girls," he teases, ushering Jon into the office. 

"I like the Stark family chaos." The admission slips out before Jon can stop it, but Mr. Stark claps a hand on his back, a broad smile on his face. 

"Thank the gods, because the Stark family sure likes _you_, Jon Snow. I hope you aren't judging the girls too harshly after this episode. Between them and Robb, it seems you're becoming family whether you want to or not." 

The words chase Jon across the street, his organs rearranging themselves according to a sudden shifting of his humours. The hierarchy turned on its head—_ King Spleen and his black bile pushed aside by the upstart Gallbladder _—until a hand drops over his shoulder, tapping a set of keys against his chest. 

"Heads up, babe. Someone puked in your shower." 

Ygritte. 

Vomit in his shower. 

_ Spleen reigns again_. 

"Did you clean it up?"

"Gross. No." It was a dumb question. Of course, she didn't clean it up. 

"Did you at least lock my room up before you left?"

"Yes, gods. You're so fuckin' paranoid."

_ Well, Ygritte, when you live with a drug-dealer who throws parties five nights a week, feel free to leave your shit out in the open. _

"And don't worry about the shower. I'm sure Janos has it handled." _ When did she stop calling him City Watch? _ "I told him you had a show this afternoon." The way she says it, her face puckered, as she eyes the Tears of Lys, with its line out the door, and a pile of strollers piled in front of the bike rack, tells Jon all he needs to know about what Ygritte thinks of this gig. She's wearing his Interpol t-shirt, tied in a knot at her navel. _ Evil_, it says. 

"Cool," he keeps walking.

"Wait, why aren't you more mad about this?"

He shrugs, "I'm sleeping at Robb's. If Slynt wants to live with vomit in the bathroom overnight, so be it."

"Sleeping at Robb's? What, are you twelve? Having a slumber party with your new bestie?"

Half a dozen people from their graduating class have slept at his house in the past two weeks, but Ygritte never once alluded to any of those nights as 'slumber parties'.

"Yeah, we're going to make friendship bracelets and braid each other's hair."

"Well then, give me your keys back."

"So you can get fucked up with Slynt, and crash in my bed? I don't think so." Before she can say anything more, he shoves his way through the line, using his guitar case to batter his way inside the crowded cafe. His stomach does another swoop as he weaves his way to the back. It's one thing to play for the other scuzzos at the Flea every weekend, and something else entirely to play for a bunch of seemingly normal people in the light of day.

_ Is that his history teacher in the corner? _

"Jon," a hand tugs at his sleeve. It's Sam, sitting at a narrow table with Dickon, his golden man-child of a little brother who somehow surpassed Jon in height overnight. No freshman has the right to look like _that. _ All square jawed, muscular, and tan. It isn't right. 

"Hey Sam, glad you could make it." And with Sam, he actually means it. They are in fewer classes together this year, and he misses his friend. "Hi Dickon." Sam adores his little brothers so he must be alright… for a freshman. 

"I wouldn't miss it, and even if I wanted to, Dickon wouldn't let me." Sam leans forward with a grin. "He has a _ crush _ on Robb Stark's little sister."

"Arya?" Jon grins, thinking of Gendry. _ What is it with giant dudes and tiny girls? _

"Nah," Dickon says. "She's cool and all, but no. It's Sansa. She told me she was coming."

_ Oh. _ Sansa talks to Dickon. _ She tells him things. _Jon eyes the large group of Casterly Rock kids who have pushed several tables together near the stage. Jeyne Poole is sitting with them beside a girl who looks vaguely familiar, but Sansa is nowhere in sight.

"I guess she changed her mind," Jon shrugs, feeling a petty satisfaction over Dickon's disappointment. _ Very mature. She's probably still upset over the whole Joffrey incident, and you're thrilled it means Dickon can't flirt with her in front of you. _

He has a problem.

But there is no addressing it now. Rob is waving him to the stage where the rest of the band is. After he plugs his guitar in and they do the quickest of sound checks, Satin introduces them as Maidenfools... which is apparently their new name, and then it's Jon, solo for the first few bars. He almost laughs aloud, when a few grown-ups clap in time with the rest of the band, and he and Theon share a shit-eating grin as Greyjoy sings. 

_ You're always dancing down the street_

_With your suede blue eyes_

_ And every new boy that you meet _

_ He doesn't know the real surprise* _

The Cars were apparently the right opening choice for the festival crowd. And it just gets better. The cafe is jam-packed for the whole show, and they picked enough crowd-pleasers in their set that it almost turns into a bit of a sing-a-long, which is both incredibly cheesy (as it's mostly the adults who know the lyrics), but also really _ fun. _Theon hams it up, sticking a leg up on the table where Jeyne and her friends sit during their rendition of "I Would Die 4 U"; all the girls erupting laughter whenever he gyrates his hips or shrieks in falsetto. 

When they close the set with "Just Can't Get Enough" all traces of Jon's hangover are officially swept away, and he even feels a bit high, shouting the refrain along with the rest of the band. As soon as they set their instruments down, the girl next to Jeyne immediately summons Robb, and he swings an arm around Jon, dragging him along. 

"_Robb, _that was amazing," Jeyne squeals, giving Robb the biggest smile Jon has ever seen. 

"Thanks," Robb's knuckles rub against Jon's sweaty scalp. "It's all started with this guy." Jeyne's eyes slide to Jon, smile dimming. So his guitar solos were a miss with at least _ one _ discerning fan. _ It's fine. Sansa's best friend hates me. Doesn't bother me at all. _

"I'm Margaery," the other girl extends a hand, her mouth curved like she's in on a joke. "I like your _ hair._" _ Oh. _ Jon is the joke. _ Cool. _"You should totally play our Halloween party. Shouldn't they Loras?" She tugs a guy forward and the memory snaps into place. It's the tawny-haired duo Sansa was with that first night at the Flea, with their matching Cheshire grins and clever brown eyes. 

"Totally," Loras answers, running a hand through his curls, though he's still laughing at something another guy is saying, and immediately turns back to his circle of bros, in their letterman jackets and side parts and obnoxious cologne. Jon's had enough of this crowd. While Robb and Margaery chat about her party, he makes his escape, letting Theon take his spot. Before he's halfway across the cafe, Greyjoy cracks a joke, and the entire table erupts in laughter. _ Charismatic asshole. _

He finds Ygritte up front, chewing on a straw, phone in hand. 

"Hey," he leans against her, but she keeps her eyes on her game. 

"Making new friends?"

"Nope. You?"

"Nope. I like the ones I have," she leans back against him. 

"You can have my keys." He's lost count of the nights he's slept at her place in the last year. The least he can do is not be an asshole when she wants to crash at his. 

"It's fine. I'm hosting my own slumber party," she looks up at him, all mischief, a shock of blue hair falling in front of her eye.

"Oh, are you?" he sweeps it back into place. "Pray tell me, whose hair will _ you _be braiding tonight?" 

"Satin's," she grins as the devil himself pops over with a handful of cookies.

"We're going to talk about boys, and plot our world takeover," he says. "So, be _ jealous. _" Jon isn't jealous. He's relieved. If Satin is with Ygritte, he can relax tonight, without worrying if his girlfriend is getting too fucked up with the rest of their friends, or worse, sitting at home, alone and bitter. 

He eats his cookie and helps clear tables until Robb makes it to the front. Before he can say anything, Ygritte is in his face. 

"So, think you can steal my boyfriend, huh?" She places a black nailed hand on Robb's chest. "Well, go ahead. Just remember...to tuck him in and give him a forehead kiss at bedtime, or he will have nightmares." She's all charm with Robb, talking music and making fun of Jon. After enduring a mini roast session by Satin, Ygritte, and Robb, Jon has to pull the three apart with threats of quitting the band. 

"Come on, I'm beat."

"Dude, your girlfriend is rad," Robb says as they head down the street. "She isn't like _ any _ of the girls at Casterly Rock."

"Yeah," _ She makes a point of it. _"My car is this way."

It's a longer walk to his car than it is to Robb's house, but when they pull up in front of the gazebo in Jon's favorite park, and Robb points to the house across the street, Jon thinks the universe must be playing a nasty trick on him. It's _ the _ house; with the bottle green door and the bikes in the yard and music and the laughter and all of Jon's stupid fantasies bottled up beyond its wide porch and white siding. 

"Well, this is home," Robb says. "I hope you don't mind the mess."

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've been promising a Stark sleepover in the next chapter for forty years...and it still hasn't materialized. I'm really not lying this time. Next chapter is the sleepover...and more jonsa....I SWEAR. 
> 
> Also, I finally have my office space set up again, so I'm hoping for some more dedicated writing time, and faster updates, now that I have a better spot to do it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone!
> 
> * "My Best Friend's Girl" - The Cars
> 
> Other mentioned songs:  
"I Would Die 4 U" - Prince  
"Just Can't Get Enough" - Depeche Mode


	23. Sansa

_ Marge: Blink once if you’re okay. Twice if we need to come rescue you from a serial killer or something. _

_ Jeyne: I’m about to walk up to your mom _

_ Sansa: Don’t! I’m not feeling well. No need check in with my mom _

_ Marge: Good because Cat is getting her wine on in the corner with some lady who looks like she could snap me like a toothpick _

_ … _

_ and I don’t believe in getting in the way of women and their bliss. _

_ … _

_ For real, that lady has pipes _

_ Sansa: It’s probably Brienne. She used to be my mom’s personal trainer _

_ Marge: What gym? I’m signing up. _

The low battery warning pops up on Sansa’s laptop and she groans into the couch cushion. It seems an impossible task to stand up, walk _ all _ the way up the stairs, and get her charger from her room. But if her laptop dies and she can’t keep watching Gilmore Girls, she is going to _ literally _ die. _ Literally. _

She’s in a real pickle. 

Between the mess with Joffrey and Arya, and whatever that vape pen held, she’s incapable of absorbing anything beyond Lorelei and Rory’s loving banter. 

_ Get your charger, you pathetic bum. _

“Fine,” she whines, crawling out from the mountain of blankets she’s burrowed in. “I should do a face mask anyway,” she tells Shaggydog, who is too busy eyeing her bowl of white cheddar popcorn to mind her puffy eyes or the blanket she’s thrown haphazardly over his back. 

Robb told her she looked like she injected botox into her eyelids, and he wasn’t wrong. It happens every time she cries. Once the tears start flowing, if she doesn’t get them under control right away, she breaks out in hives and her face swells up like she’s been stung by a bee.

Of course, she cries easily, and not only when she’s sad. Tears come when she’s frustrated, or embarrassed too; a triple threat, the great injustice of her life, and one of many reasons she avoids conflict at all costs. 

“Come on,” She lets the dog out the back door, and then mopes upstairs. Any other day she’d be reveling in having the house to herself...well, mostly to herself. Arya has locked herself in her room. She’s not speaking to Sansa, which is fine, because Sansa doesn’t want to speak to her either. 

If it weren’t for her sister, Sansa wouldn’t be missing her first chance at a social life in weeks. Instead, she’s sitting in her bathroom, alone, applying green tea and avocado cream to her face like she’s sixty and not sixteen. 

Just as she starts down the stairs again, her phone vibrates and she sits down on the top step to answer Marge’s video call, though she flips the camera to her freshly painted toenails instead of her face. The dusty rose is a bit paler than she’d prefer, but she likes the name. _ Tickle me France-y. _

“Oh,” Marge says squinting. “You _ are _ at home.”

“Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know...with Joff? He didn’t come to the show either, even though he told me he’d be here. Why aren’t you showing your face?”

Sansa regrets answering. When she had promised Joffrey she wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened, she’d been too distracted to clarify if that extended to their morning together, or just everything that went wrong after. She should have known Margaery would start fishing immediately. She’d have the whole story unearthed by Monday morning even without Sansa’s help. 

“I’m not with Joffrey.”

“Who are you talking to?” Loras’s face squeezes into the frame beside his twin. “Oh, nice nails.”

“Hi Loras.”

“_Oh_, it’s Sansa... Are you finding out what’s up with her facebook?”

_ Her facebook? _ Sansa has no idea what he’s talking about. _ Did Joffrey post something? _ He’d threatened to make her life hell if she didn’t keep her mouth shut. Then, while he was treated by the medic, she had been left waiting outside the tent with Sandor. He’d told her the story of how his brother had burned his face… and though it was a story about himself, it felt like a threat against her. 

By the time her father and Senator Baratheon had arrived, she’d been a mess; convinced Arya was going to be arrested, her parents were going to get sued, and Joffrey was going to spread some terrible lie about her to the entire school.

While the first two scenarios had somehow been avoided, she’s still not sure if she’s clear of the third. 

“What about my facebook?”

She’d been on earlier, reading Joffrey’s profile, trying to determine if there was some missing hint there; in the bands he likes or his status history, that would have warned her he’s a budding sociopath. _ Would a smarter person have seen it? _

“Honey, your profile pic,” Loras holds his phone up to the camera, and her own face comes into focus, but it’s been altered—with a pixelated pinocchio nose drawn over her own. “And your status says ‘lying my ass off’’... Do we need to stage an intervention? Are you having, like, a Britney moment?”

“Wait, did you unfriend me?” Margaery frowns at the screen. “Sansa, why did you unfriend _ everyone _?”

“Arya!” Sansa hangs up, racing down the stairs to find her sister and Bran leaping away from her laptop. “What is _ wrong with you!” _

_ Do not cry again. Your face just stopped looking like a blowfish. Don’t you dare cry... _

Bran has the sense to look ashamed. “Just having a bit of a prank, Sans. You _ did _ leave your facebook open.”

“Yeah, to your boyfriend’s profile too. We just thought we should update yours to match his.”

“And delete all of my friends?”

“_What?” _ Bran looks at Arya. “I didn’t know...I just got home.” 

“Why?” Sansa focuses on her sister. “_ Why _ do you hate me so much?”

“Me hate you? It’s obviously the other way around. You will side with _ anyone _ before me. Joffrey, Harry, _ Margaery... _”

Sansa has no idea what she’s talking about with Harry and Margaery, but she is furious about Joffrey. “You think I _ sided _ with Joffrey today?”

“You said you didn’t see anything, when he _ clearly _attacked Mycah first.”

“Everything is so black and white with you.”

“The _ truth _is black and white!”

“Is it? Fine. Let’s say I told them that Joffrey dropped his water bottle in Mycah’s path. So what?”

“_So what? _ He could have killed Mycah.”

“Joffrey dropped a water bottle right by the dumpsters, where recycling and trash go.”

“But…”

“While it’d be very hard to prove intent over a boy dropping a water bottle, we both know there are laws against setting up an illegal skatepark. You and Mycah already got fined for that this summer. So that’s strike one against you, and what about swinging a skateboard at someone’s head? That’s _ assault _, Arya!”

“But Joffrey…”

“Is an awful person who could have killed Mycah and was threatening to do horrible things to you? I know. I was there. I was also there after you left, and then he was threatening to do horrible things to me. Gods, Arya. I’m so tired of your self-righteous fury. If I would have told dad and Senator Baratheon everything I saw, _ you _ would have been the one in trouble. I’d be a witness, and if Joff tells his mom and she decides that missing out on Robb’s show isn’t enough of a punishment, then there could be serious consequences. If they press charges, what do you think that’ll do to the relationship between the Lannister Corporation and Stark Construction? They account for half the new work in the last year. I know you’re too busy thinking about yourself all the time, but if you paid attention to _ anything else _ around you, then you’d know how stressed out mom and dad are about the business.” 

“So that’s what you were thinking about?” Arya sneers. “Sansa Stark; _ Ms. Altruist _ . When you claimed not to see anything, you were thinking about the _ business? _”

In truth, she’d been thinking about Sandor Clegane’s hateful face, staring at her outside the medic tent._ Look at me! Take a good long stare… _

“It had _ nothing _ to do with Joffrey and what he might think about you?” Arya’s arms are crossed, and though her face is flushed, her eyes are hard, and Sansa hates the sliver of truth in her accusation. 

“So what if I was? Maybe I just wanted the conflict to be over. Maybe I just want things to be normal again. Maybe I don’t want drama with yet _another _boy at my school. Is that so wrong?” She’s losing control. Her feelings are coming faster than her thoughts and her voice comes out high and pitchy. “I just want one week to pass where _someone _isn’t mad at me, or where I’m not the butt of a joke, or grounded, or a fucking _meme_. So go ahead, call me _basic_ or whatever, Arya. I’m sorry I’m not cool enough to not care what other people think, okay? I do care. I want to fit in, and I want people to like me. Is that _so_ _horrible_?” 

“Gods,” Robb groans behind her. “You two are still at it?” 

Sansa spins around, and there is her brother, leaning against the doorway to the front hall, and just behind him is Jon Snow. 

Because _ of course _ Jon Snow is once again witness to her complete mortification. It’s like he signed a contract. _ I, Jon Snow, official historian of the Sansa Stark Record of Embarrassment, vow to be physically present at each critical event forthwith... _

It wasn’t enough for him to see her earlier, tear-stained and splotchy. She’s somehow managed to up the ante with a pea green facemask, an oversized powder-blue sweatshirt that has her and Jeyne’s thirteen-year-old faces screen printed across the front, and—the cherry on top—a semi-hysterical rant about how much she aspires to be everything _ he isn’t into. _

The only thing left to do now is make an escape, which she does, darting by him and Robb, up the stairs, and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. 

She wants to scream, or run away, or maybe just disappear; shrink into her hoodie until she’s the size of a penny, and then just slip between a crack in the grout. Instead, she sits on the edge of the bathtub trying to ignore the voices drifting up the staircase. 

_ What is wrong with me? Why is everything so embarrassing? _

When her timer goes off, she washes the mask from her face, careful to wipe away the bits near her hairline and along her jaw. Her moisturizer is cool against her skin as she massages it into her cheeks and forehead, and by the time she tiptoes out of the bathroom and into her bedroom she has composed herself enough _ not _ to chuck her hairbrush at Robb’s face. 

He’s sitting on her bed, her laptop closed beside him, looking remorseful. “We changed your profile picture back and...um...I think Arya actually feels properly ashamed of herself for once.”

“When pigs fly,” she sinks into the mattress beside him, too tired for her own anger. “And thanks for the heads up you were bringing company over.” She whacks him now, and he steals the brush away. 

“It’s just Jon,” he leans back on his elbows. “He doesn’t care how you look.”

Robb is right, and it only makes her feel worse. Of course he doesn’t care. _ Why would he? _

“I still don’t want my math tutor to think I’m a total psycho. Plus, the house is a disaster. I could have at least picked up a bit before you came home.”

“He doesn’t think you’re a psycho. In fact, I barely had to say anything to Arya before he was all over it; calling her out over this facebook nonsense and telling her to grow up and shit. It was impressive, especially for someone who doesn’t have siblings.”

Before she can process that, Bran knocks on the door, and slips inside looking for all the world like a gangly wolf-pup with his tail between his legs. 

“My lady…” he shuffles across her rug on his knees, making a whole act of his contrition. “How may I ever make it up to you…” he bows before her feet, extra ridiculous in his crackling preteen voice. “I am but a lowly serf, begging your forgiveness.”

Sansa throws a pillow at his face. “Help me do the dishes tonight, and take out the trash, and…” she taps her finger against her cheek, staring at the ceiling.

“And what?” 

When she glances at Robb he is giving her that look that says _ put the poor boy out of his misery _ , but she is kind of enjoying Bran’s groveling. He’s hardly the one she blames for the social media sabotage, but at least _ someone _ is apologizing to her.

“Help me with the JavaScript I’m struggling with for Uncle Benji’s website.”

“That’s it? _ Really? _” Bran’s eyes light up and she throws another pillow at him.

“Yeah nerd...now get out of my room.”

When he leaves, she eyes Robb, lying back across her linen duvet, an arm slung over his face. 

“You shouldn’t leave your guest waiting.”

“He’s fine,” he looks up at her, “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Fine?”

_Oh._ _Not really. No._ “What did Arya mean?” she deflects, lying beside her brother. “She said something about me siding with everyone over her.”

“Yeah, well it’s no secret you two are nothing alike.”  
  


“She’s the one who makes a point of it. And that’s not what she meant. She mentioned Harry and Margaery.” Arya’s words feel like a splinter just beneath her skin. There is something she needs to pick out. 

“I mean… Harry’s an ass, and Marge is, well gods, Sansa, you know what she’s like. She’s judgemental and overfamiliar. She locks onto whatever impression someone makes in the first five minutes of her acquaintance, and because it’s Margaery Tyrell, the self-appointed authority on teen social standing, that impression is adopted by everyone else in a five mile radius.” 

Sansa rolls her eyes. Robb isn’t wrong, exactly. She still recalls the way Margaery shared a glance with her during freshman orientation and boldly switched tables so she could sit beside Sansa. _ Can you believe the theme they picked for the fall formal? What, is it 1980? _ There was no, _ hi, I’m Margaery, what’s your name? _ Just instant intimacy, and Sansa, who was a ball of anxiety without Jeyne by her side, was instantly hooked. Margaery, with her breezy confidence and conspiratorial brand of friendship, was a lifeline, though a brittle one. Still, she’s not sure what that has to do with Arya. “Marge treats Arya no differently than Jeyne does.” 

“Jeyne is _ family. _When she calls Arya horseface, it’s like me calling you pigweed.”

She hits him again, and he swats back with a pillow. 

“Annoying right? But not mortifying. Imagine… I don’t know, Jon Snow calling you that.”

“Don’t you dare call me that in front of him.” 

“See? That’s how Arya feels when Margaery is mean to her. She barely knows Arya, so she hasn’t _ earned _it. There’s no undercurrent of affection there. It’s just mean girl energy. And I don’t think you notice because Margaery latched onto you freshman year like a bee to honey, and no offence Sansa, but you’re good at turning a blind eye to shitty behavior when it’s coming from someone who is nice to you.” 

_ Oh. _

There was an afternoon over the summer that comes to mind. Harry had driven up for the day to their Aunt Lysa’s lakehouse, and he and Sansa were sunbathing on the dock. Arya and Bran snuck up on them with water guns, and fifteen minutes of chaos ensued, ending in Harry throwing both Arya and Bran off the end of the dock. At the time Sansa had found the whole incident amusing, but looking back, she remembers how Harry had made a whole thing of acting like Arya was another one of Sansa’s brothers, repeatedly asking Sansa what it felt like to be the only girl in the family, and telling Arya to come back when her balls dropped… She cringes, thinking about it now. 

“Okay,” she closes her eyes, exhausted. So Joffrey isn’t the first monster she’s been charmed by. She’s a bad judge of character. _ Not to be trusted. _

“That doesn’t excuse Arya’s actions today, though,” Robb’s voice is close, and she can feel him staring down at her. 

“Okay…” _ But doesn’t it? _“Well, you should really go. Jon probably thinks you died up here or something.”

“Sansa-”

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m just tired.”

“Come watch a movie with us.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” but then he’s got her by the ankle and he’s dragging her from her bed, and she’s grasping for purchase, pulling her bedding down with her while she shrieks at him to stop, but he just yanks harder. By the time she finally kicks away, he’s managed to drag her to the door, her comforter beneath her. Shaggydog barks and the sound of the garage door opening indicates their mother has returned. 

“Shit,” Robb scrambles to his feet, leaving her to slide down the stairs. “I forgot to ask mom if Jon can stay over.”

_ Stay over? _ Jon Snow is going to sleep in her house... _ tonight. _Just across the hall. She ducks back into her room, desperate to change her outfit. But of course, she can’t. That would be too obvious. If it were any of Robb’s other friends—Dacey, Meera or even Theon—she would happily lounge around the house in her ridiculous sweatshirt and floral leggings, because who cares what Robb’s friends think of her? 

And if she’s going to undo any of the damage from her earlier “I’m a desperate people pleaser” episode, as well as get over her stupid, pointless crush, she _ has _ to act like she doesn’t care. She has to not care about Jon Snow as much as he doesn’t care about her. _ Just because he’s friendly with you at Winterfell, doesn’t make him your friend, _ she reminds herself. _ He’s Robb’s friend… and Arya’s. _ That he found her sister when no one else could, proves it. He barely acknowledged Sansa’s existence today, but he has a telepathic connection to her sister. 

Ygritte’s instagram feed pops into her head. She and Arya would be besties… if they aren’t on their way already. She opens Facebook. Her picture is restored, just as Robb promised, but her friend list is glaringly empty—officially friendless with one unanswered request sent to Jon Snow weeks ago. 

_ Whatever. As of right now...I officially don't care. _

The sweatshirt stays on. The leggings, with their lilac peonies splashed across her thighs, stay on. She does, however, take a moment to pull her hair from the messy bun she’d been hiding beneath her hoodie. She quickly brushes it out, pulling it over one shoulder in a single act of vanity. 

When she descends the stairs, Jon is on the couch, lazily strumming his guitar, while he tells Arya and Bran about the show. Even as she breezes past them, she notices how much better he looks than this morning. There’s color to his face and his hair is pulled back in that bun that she...definitely feels indifferent about. He glances up, and she looks away. 

In the kitchen, Robb pleads with their mother. 

“It’s just _ Jon _, Mom. He doesn’t care if my room is clean.”

“Well, _ I _care. I’m not letting that poor boy sleep in your pigsty of a room without you changing the sheets and picking up the mountain of dirty clothes from your floor first.” Catelyn presses an empty laundry basket into Robb’s stomach, and he turns in defeat. “And don’t even think about coming down those stairs without running the vacuum!” She adds before he disappears up the landing. 

“Darling,” she fingers Sansa’s hair. “Are you feeling any better? Your father told me that both you _ and _ Arya were feeling unwell, though your sister seems to have recovered awfully fast.” Arya shrieks with laughter in the next room, and Catelyn presses the back of her hand to Sansa’s cool forehead as if checking for a fever. “Do you think it was something you ate _ ? _ Did Joffrey over-indulge you with greasy fair food?”

Her teasing smile turns to a frown when Sansa shrugs away. 

“I don’t know. I must have had too much sun.” She reaches into the refrigerator for a sparkling water, trying to ignore the look of concern on her mother’s face. 

“You’ve been crying. Did something happen?” 

“What? No... I just—” She doesn’t know how to lie to her mom. Catelyn sees everything.

“I was messing with her social media.” Arya cuts in, from the doorway, and Sansa glances up in surprise. Her sister’s arms are crossed, but her face is calm as she stares resolutely at their mother. “I shouldn’t have done it. It was a mean prank, and I apologize, Sansa.” She tilts her chin vaguely in Sansa’s direction and Sansa wants to roll her eyes. Bran crawled on the floor for her and Arya can’t even look her in the face. 

Catelyn glances between them both, in confusion. The woman still keeps a rolodex on her desk. She will not understand the nuances of Arya’s facebook hijack. Not that it matters. Arya is just using this apology to cover for Sansa’s inability to lie. _ How ironic. _

“Apology accepted.” Sansa is annoyed that she’s being forced into a feigned form of forgiveness. She doesn't feel like forgiving her sister, nor does Arya’s apology resemble anything approaching sincerity. 

“Okay...are you sure?” 

“It was just stupid sibling stuff, mom. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Well, I’m glad to see you two work it out yourselves.” By the way her eyes keep darting between them, Sansa is unsure their mother believes that to be the case. But then, Jon is in the doorway as well, his hair down around his face again, a hand palming his neck. 

“Hey Mrs. Stark, if it's an inconvenience, I don’t need to stay over. I’ll just head home—”

“Oh, by the seven, it's not an inconvenience at all, Jon. How else would I ever get Robb to clean his room?”

“Are you sure?”

“_Yes_, and please give your mother my number in case she wants to call—”

“Oh my god, Mom. _ Stop _.” Arya growls. “You’re so embarrassing. Jon is practically an adult.”

“What?” their mother scowls back. “Call me old-fashioned, but there isn’t an age in which a mother stops worrying where her child is spending the night. I just want Jon’s mother to feel comfortable with us.”

“Mom,” Sansa rolls her eyes. “Arya is right. You are being weird.” Jon is still leaning in the doorway, looking uncomfortable, and she’s sure he regrets ever stepping foot in their house. Just then Shaggydog and Rickon come tearing in through the backdoor, both sopping wet. 

“You know what?” Sansa presses her hands to her mother’s shoulders. “Why don’t you head back out to the festival? I’m guessing Dad is staying out with the senator?”

“He is.... I’m sure they’ll be out late, catching up.”

“Well, go out too. Have another glass of wine with Brienne—”

“How’d you know about that?”

“I have spies everywhere.”

“I don’t want to saddle you with Rickon, Sansa.” Her mother starts. “You’ve been watching him a lot lately and—”

“And tonight, it’ll be Arya’s turn,” Sansa shoots Arya a warning glance before she can protest, and for once her sister doesn’t fight her. She grabs the dog by the collar and their little brother around the waist, and hauls them both towards the laundry room. 

“Come on you two. What did you even get into? You smell like dead fish.”

“You know you’re still going to have to do bedtime, right?” Catelyn leans close, tucking a strand of hair behind Sansa’s ear, and she’s acutely aware of Jon Snow watching them. “Last time Arya put him down, he woke up screaming about faceless men in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Thank you, darling. You really are a dear. I’m just going to freshen up,” Her mom gives her a quick squeeze. “There is a lasagna ready to bake in the fridge, and Jon, I’m serious about giving your mother my number...just in case.”

She disappears up the stairs without waiting for an answer, and Sansa and Jon are left alone in the kitchen. She’s done her best to ignore him, but now it’s strange to look anywhere else. 

He stares back at her. “Hi.” 

“Robb should be down soon.” she ducks down to set the oven. 

“I’m not worried,” his voice is close, and when she stands up, he’s beside her. “Are you okay?”

She hates that he’s asking her...like he cares. He’s not Robb, or her mother, or even any of her friends. _Remember? _

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Sansa—" He tilts his head, and it’s so familiar; those lips pressed together—half exasperation, half amusement. Why is he so _ familiar_? They hardly know each other. 

She stares out the window above the sink, at the gnarly old walnut tree that always litters their grass with rotting fruit in the fall. “We don’t need to pretend to be friends, okay?”

”Pretend? What are you on about?” She can feel his frown. _ Stormy guarded eyes. Hollow cheeks. _

“Just because you tutor me in precalculus, doesn’t make us friends. It’s fine.” She tries for an airy nonchalance, but she sounds pathetic. “You have more in common with Robb and Arya, anyway,” she tries to explain. _ I’m letting you off the hook, Jon Snow. _“I get it. We don’t need to force a square peg into a round hole.”

Her ears buzz and she imagines a rush of air pushing Jon away from her. When she braves a glance, he looks stunned. White hot panic flutters beneath her ribs. 

_The words came out wrong._ _I’m not rejecting you. I’m making it okay for you to reject me..._

“It’s just easier—” she whispers, but then Robb is knocking down the stairs with an overflowing laundry basket, yelling to Jon that he’s almost done, and Arya is back with Rickon and Shaggydog, and Bran appears from the den with a handful of video game cases held high, and Sansa hides in the walk-in pantry until they all leave the kitchen, and she’s alone again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Covers eyes....so angsty. (I know, I know, I know)
> 
> Also, I haven't been on facebook in a VERY long time, so if this is not an accurate rep of how it works....SUE ME. ( 😬😘)
> 
> Real qualityJonsa in the next chapter from Jon's perspective (he is not going to be pushed aside that easily) and I PROMISE I'm dialing back the angst-factor, at least for a bit.


End file.
